Reality Alternate
by msgrits
Summary: What if Gil was Gil and Sara was Sara but they met at a different time and place? Would they end up together?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**This is fanfiction. Fiction written by a fan. The fan being me. The fiction being mine. The characters being those portrayed on CSI and owned by whoever makes all the nice money from them. This fic is completely AU and probably a bit OC so please stop now if that notions disturbs you.**

**Thanks to MichelleF for all the unconditional support and the many, many, many notes. Did I mention many? Smooches to Lostingintranlation, my newest beta. She also had many, many notes. See a pattern? As always thanks to Joan for listening to much bemoaning. Thanks to Fishy for reading the fist chapter even though it was most certainly not her cup of tea and thanks to Mel for giving a crap about this fic.**

**This has been on my hard drive in some form or another for at least a year. It's finally gotten to place where I like it enough. **

**I really do mean it. It's AU.**

**Did I mention it being AU?**

**AU I said!**

**Reality Alternate**

**Chapter One **

Gil Grissom kept his head down as he walked down the dark corridor. When he came to the glass door, he waved at Tommy, the doorman. The young woman wore a black leather vest with matching pants slung low on her waist. One hip bone peeked out. She didn't have on any underwear. She rarely did.

A tiny tattoo that seemed to have an almost 3-D quality ran across her midsection. He could never make it out in the dark strip club, though he tried. She flitted here and there, making drinks from memory, and never consulting a book, even for the most obscure recipes. She remembered customers by name. She remembered how everyone liked their drinks. Martin liked Grey Goose. Troy wanted the cheap stuff, just enough to satisfy the two drink minimum. Doc, well Doc wanted whatever new recipe she wanted to try on him that night. Her real name was Sara, but most of the club patrons called her Sunshine, even though she rarely smiled or wore bright colors. There was still something inherently good about her: she was better than this place.

"She gonna know you are standing there, Doc."Gil smiled and handed George, the sinewy doorman, a new bill as he passed through the entryway. _Good to have a bit of money. Good to be young and good looking._ He felt as though he should be singing a show tune. Laughing at himself, he fairly bounced up to where the young woman served the drinks.

He took a seat at the corner where he could see the stage, but also see Sara. Mostly, it was so he could see Sara; the other women were just a bonus.

She grinned wide enough to show the gap between her two front teeth. "Hiya Doc. Got something special for you tonight." She made a gun with her fingers fired and blew fake smoke away.

"You always do, Gorgeous."

She pulled a cocktail shaker from somewhere down below. "Why do you call me that?"

"Why do you call me Doc?"

"'Cause you got one of those fancy schmancy degrees," she deadpanned. Her dark eyes caught the light and shone brightly.

"Well, if A plus B equals C on Monday it means the same thing on Tuesday."

"That's not true Doc. There may be varying conditions on Tuesday."

He smirked. She did that every now and then; let slip just how bright she was. But mostly she kept it light and only smiled for him, looking pretty and sweet. It was why he kept coming back.

"I call you Gorgeous because you are gorgeous."

"They must have fried your head up there in that school, Doc. I am a lot of things, but gorgeous, I am not. Otherwise they'd let me dance, instead of tend bar."

"You tried to dance here?" He took the martini glass she offered him.

"Yeah, they said I was too skinny. I told them I could gain some weight if I had a job. I got the job, but I'm still too skinny."

"Are you eating?" he asked, taking a sip that offered no taste.

"More than I was. I think I need more meat, though. I just haven't ever really cared for it. Every now and then, I want burger or a steak. But not too much."

He took another sip. _God this was good._ "What is this?"

"It's your special drink, Doc." She fired the imaginary gun again.

He wondered if he was being played, but quickly decided it didn't matter. Most women could play most men. "You should try some peanut butter, some eggs, some soy products. Prisoners eat a lot of peanut butter in jail to bulk up."

"How do you know about prison, Doc?" she asked, waving to another regular who slapped Gil on the back as he passed by.

"I am a criminalist."

"Oh, yeah," dhe said, pretending she had forgotten. He knew she never forgot anything He wished she didn't feel like she had to play him. She wouldn't know that, though, considering the time or the place.

"You gonna do it?" he asked.

"I got the damn GED, didn't I?" She rolled her eyes.

"I paid you to do that," he retorted. Over the past few months they had gotten to know one another. When he found out that she had dropped out of high school when she was fifteen, he paid her to just take the GED test without the classes. He was sure she could pass it with no prep, but he bought her a book just in case. She had laughed and said something about one more thing to do and not get paid. He produced one hundred dollars and told her there was another fifty when she passed.

She wiggled her eyebrows Groucho Marx style. "Can we make a deal about the protein?"

"We can make a deal that you will gain weight." She cocked her head. "The right way," he admonished. "By eating right and getting some exercise."

"How much weight?" she wanted to know.

"How much do you weigh right now?"

Sara cut her eyes left and right. She walked to wear Harvey, the muscle bound computer repairman, had settled and handed him a scotch and water that Gil had not seen her preparing.

"If I tell you, don't laugh, okay? You have to promise."

He started to laugh until he realized she was serious. He wondered about drug use, not for the first time. She leaned over and whispered a number into his ear. He leaned back and studied her. She was at least five foot eight.

"Gorgeous, you have to put on some weight. You don't even have any reserve if you get sick."

Sara called to Chubby, a slinky man of Persian decent that always looked slightly embarrassed. "Chubby you better get home to your wife. Didn't she tell you something about your balls in the freezer the last time?"

He hunched deeper in the leather booth.

She turned to Gil.

"I will pay you twenty for each pound you gain and I will pay your gym fees."

She snorted, not feeling like she had to bargain. Doc didn't hustle her. He was a straight shooter. She had often wondered just when he was going to follow her home and try to fuck her. She had already figured out how much she was going to charge: nothing. He had already been so good to her that she would let him have a piece for free, for a few months at least. Besides, she needed more experience with men. Marg, the lead act, had told her that the handsome doctor obviously wanted her. Marg had done some checking and found that he was financially solvent, earned a good living, wasn't addicted to anything (except maybe dark haired women), and he didn't have any kids or ex wives.

Gil

I could watch her for hours. I am making a fool out of myself and I know that. Hell, everyone knows it. She's just so... What? She's just a girl, but she's so... Chronologically, she's a woman but those toasted almond colored eyes and that smile. They all belong to the girl she was always afraid to be. I have turned it over and over in my mind, but there's just no way to approach her. No way to make myself not sound like a sleazy strip club patron. By virtue of the fact that I am here at least half the week there is bound to be a bit of sleaze that sticks to me. Melinda runs a classy joint but it's still a place where men pay to see naked women.

All the chandeliers and designer martinis in the world won't change that fact.

She is way too young for me. She has to be twenty one to work here. It's only a decade but 21 is a long way from 32. Women are supposed to be more mature than men. But it still feels like cradle robbing.

She's not like the other girls who work here. How many perps have I heard say that? I wish it was the Middle Ages and I could just pay off my sins ahead of time.

I am no angel. Never portrayed myself. as one. But I have always prided myself on the fact that I treat women properly. I have never been particularly interested in women more than a few years younger than myself. I don't taken advantage of my students like many of my colleagues do, even though the temptation has been there once or twiceI keep my hands to myself at work, though there is no rule that says a contractor can't date employees.

The one thing about me is that I am not so good at this whole monogamy thing. I've never lied about it. But it's cost me at least one wonderful woman over the years. I don't even want to contemplate that, and how much she looked like Sara.

I wave my hand for Sara to refill whatever she's trying out on me tonight.

Sara

He is very cute. Okay, so he's drop dead, slobbering, about to make a fool out of myself gorgeous. Luckily it's dark in here and he has yet to catch me staring at him when I should be cleaning up or memorizing new recipes. He sits there most nights where the lights catch his baby blues. He's got really dark hair like mine and curls like mine, too. I'm pretty sure he has a photographic memory as well, or at least close to it. I try not to make too much of the similarities. You know, fate and all that crap. That's for girls from the suburbs, who only have to worry about what to wear to the next frat party. I wish that's all I had to worry about.

He probably teaches girls like that. I'm a fucking idiot to think he would be the least bit interested in me, when Barbie and Jennifer are sitting in the front row with their perfect blond highlights, cut into the latest Jennifer Anniston style. I see girls like that when I'm at Walmart and I wonder what it must be like, to have a credit card that you don't have to worry about paying for? Or maybe they do pay the bill, but they don't have to worry about what will happen if they get sick or can't make the rent. There's someone there. They have a safety net.

There it is again. I don't want to consider my conversation with Marg, but I can't help it. She seems to think that Doc has a thing for me. Oh, he's got something for me all right. Mostly I figure it's only pity. Well, that's what I thought at first. Until I figured out that Doc doesn't really do pity. I think he just likes me. Not in a "hop in the bed" kind of way, but in a "remind him of his nerdy second cousin" kind of way.

At least, that's what I thought until last week. Now, I'm not so sure. I caught him staring last week. With his mouth hanging open. Not all goofy, like some of our patrons do when Marg hits the stage. No, this was ever so slight. Very subtle. Like he forgot himself for a second. After he realized that his mouth was open, he gave me a lopsided grin. I think I might've actually blushed. This fairytale business is too hard to figure out. I like mixing drinks better. At least there're directions.

"_Sunshine. You need someone."_

"_Not a man. NO I don't. I don't NEED a man. I can take care of myself."_

"_You can't sling drinks forever."_

"_Why not?. I think I'm doing good," Sara murmured._

"_You're doing okay and I admire you for it. But if you are going to get ahead, maybe go to school one day, you need someone to take up the slack. What's the use being pretty and smart if you have to work yourself to the bone just to get ahead?"_

_Sara didn't judge women that sold their bodies. You had to do what you had to do. Sara hadn't done it. She didn't want to do it, but life had taught her to never say never. "Marg I am not going to sell my ass. I won't say I never will, but it hasn't come to that yet_."

"_I never said anything about whoring. You are young and beautiful and any man would be happy to flaunt you around. You know? Pay the cost to be the boss. I'm talking about a stead y guy who takes care of things. That way you can sock away your own money for a rainy day. I'm not saying go with someone that you don't find attractive. Not like Cheryl, who's with that guy who's practically on oxygen. I see the heat between the two of you. Hell, you would've had to be blind not to see it. Okay, so if the idea of money makes you squeamish, maybe that Dr. Grissom can teach you a lot of things and give you access to places you wouldn't normally have access to. He's always in the paper at some party or another and people respect him. Just the other night I saw him on CNN talking about that husband that killed his family and got nabbed 'cause of the kind of bugs that were in his backyard. He can teach you things, Sunshine. He can teach you how to dress for a dinner party, how to order from the wine list. You're smart enough, and you pick up things easy."_

_Sara had looked at her skeptically. "That's what I got you for, Marg. You help me with that stuff."_

_Marg clucked for a bit. "Yeah, I know. But this guy - you would be on his arm. With your looks and smarts, it doesn't matter if you don't stay together forever. Once you're in the right circle, you are in. You're young enough that no one will ask where you came from."_

"_Why do I even care about that stuff?" Sara wanted to know._

"_Sara, you don't want to tend bar the rest of your life do you?" Marg repeated_

_Sara shrugged. "I don't know."_

"_You're too smart for this. This way you can have other opportunities opened up to you."_

"_What kind of opportunities?"_

"_School. If not school, a husband who is well off and just wants a little baby doll to hang on his arm. Wouldn't it be nice to just stay home and read all the books you want or just go to playgroup or invite your book group over to talk about those Alice Walker books you love some much."_

_Sara looked down and then back at Marg. "People do that? I mean, they have groups to talk about books."_

"_Yeah. They have lists up all the time in the bookstores and community papers. My Mom is in one."_

_Marg could see she was finally making some headway. "And he's on the ballet board. That means he's got to go to all the performances."_

_Sara had only gone to the ballet once in her life, when she was a girl scout. They went to see the Nutcracker. "Doesn't mean he would take me."_

"_Sara, if you saw what everyone else can see, you'd know that he'd be thrilled to take you anywhere. You don't have to be a barracuda about it, just be open to it." _

"_I don't want to depend on a man. That's how my mom ended up in jail. I don't want to do that."_

"_Think about what you want. What you need. In order for women like us to get out of this life, we gotta have a plan, Sunshine. Get a plan and work it. 'K?"_

_Sara had agreed, but not entirely sure that she would be able to pull it off. _

Sara snapped out of her musing and looked at the man in front of her.

"I don't want to go to a gym, Doc. I don't like being cooped up. They do have yoga in the park. I always wanted to do that. Maybe if I get limber they'll let me on stage. Yeah, that's a good deal, Doc. I gain some weight. Work on my bod. They have to let me on stage don't they, Doc?"

He took another sip. "I will consider it an investment then."

She smiled and moved away to check on Bill Freeman's watered down soda.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N I got a review that referred this Sara as skanky Sara. While that didn't particularly disturb me... Actually it didn't disturb me at all. It is important to note that this Grissom and Sara are our Grissom and Sara in very, very different circumstances. They are good people but still just people and their motivations might not always seem so noble. **

Thank you so much to Losingintranslation and Michelle.

Observation

He always parked his car next to hers. It was a Toyota Corolla that was in pretty good condition. She kept it washed and cleaned. The gas gage was never on empty. He surmised that she hadn't lied about being able to make it on her tips. The envelopes were stuck under her tire. They were damp from a puddle of water and oil. Unable to resist anything of interest, he bent down to get a better look at the papers and picked them up.

The first thing he noticed was that they were both addressed to one Sara Honeysuckle Sidle. One envelope was from the Sun Valley Community College, and the other was from the American College Testing Center. They were both postmarked from a month before.

He opened the ACT score first.

English, 26

Science, 30

Math, 31

Social Sciences, 25

Composite Score, 28

He then looked in the other envelope.

_Dear Miss Sidle,_

_The Admissions Committee is pleased to offer you a full tuition scholarship and a place in our Fall class. Based on your ACT scores and your online placement exams, we will also award you three credit hours for Freshman English, three credit hours for College Algebra and three credit hours for College Biology. There are several other online placement tests that are available as well as an IQ test that has no bearing on your placement. _

_Please call our office and acknowledge your willingness to accept the above scholarship. _

He turned to unlock his trunk and pulled out a legal pad. Ripping off a piece of the paper, he wrapped the wet pieces in it. After sitting them down on the passenger's seat of his five year old Lexus, he took a deep breath, counted to 10 and turned the key. This was so not a good idea, but he really didn't care anymore.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sara held the beer up to her forehead. _So damn hot._ The knock on the door made her jump. It was probably Mr. Zobowksi from next door. He was a retired baker and was forever bringing Sara fresh rolls and cookies.

"Hey, Mr. Z. You through with your morning walk already?"

Blue eyes, not gray eyes greeted her. She had never seen him in the light of day. He was growing his beard again. She could see that now. It was black, like his hair. Her ex-boyfriend had tried to grow a beard once. The hair had come in sparsely and some odd red color, so it had done nothing for his bid to buy beer.

"Hi, Gorgeous," he said softly peering into the small tidy room behind her.

Strangely, she wasn't surprised to see him. She stood back and let him in. Hadn't everyone said he'd come around to make the offer one of these days? Apparently today was the day.

He looked around the apartment. Sara had tried to cover up the dreariness with a few plants and framed prints. He could see into her bedroom, where she had painted one wall lavender. The building was not in the greatest neighborhood. But it appeared to be well kept, relatively safe, and inhabited by single people of all ages. Thankfully, he'd never been to a crime scene there.

"You want a beer?" she said, indicating the one in her hand. She was surprised by how happy she felt at seeing him there.

He shook his head and sat on the ancient couch that Sara had covered with a cheap replica of a Native American quilt.

"Is that your breakfast?" He waved a hand at the beer.

"No. It's… no," she gave him a look of mock incredulity. "I have proper breakfast food, thank you very much. I was just getting ready to have some blueberry muffins and eggs."

"Sounds good. I'll take double your portion." She shook her head and raked her eyes over his clothes. _Daylight looked good on him._ Her dark eyes fell to his shoes and she knew they must have been at least a hundred bucks.

"How do you want your eggs?"

"Now you care about my likes and dislikes?"

She squinted at him and capped the beer. "Doc, I am always serving you: serving you at work, at my apartment. Look, this is your first time in my apartment and I'm already cooking you breakfast."

She moved around her minuscule kitchen wondering how it was all going to play out. What did he want from her? Clearly he wasn't here just for breakfast. Did he want a roll in the hay, a one night stand or maybe even a mistress? He could have the latter, she'd decided that on her ride home. It was time to grow up and become a big girl.

The apartment was not as small as he would have imagined, but he could see straight into the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator and he was glad to see it full. A small, but solid collection of fruits and vegetables were next to the eggs. There was also a quart of juice and some whole milk. There were two boxes of cereal on the counter and a canister of whole wheat pasta. Perhaps she was eating well, just like she had claimed. Maybe she was just naturally thin.

He swiveled his head in the other direction and took note of the TV. It was hooked up to a cable box and VCR. She hadn't lied to him, she was doing okay. Better than a lot of twenty something girls on their own. He didn't know what her background was, but it couldn't be too pretty considering what he did know about her past. He would have to remember to buy Melinda something nice for Christmas, seeing as how she had been doing right by Sara.

She peered at him as she cracked brown eggs into a bowl. Her mouth began moving of its own accord. "I am going to make you the best western omelet this side of heaven."

"I have no doubt."

"But the muffins I can't take credit for. My neighbor's been trying to fatten me up ever since I moved here. Thank god it's not working, 'cause then I might have to actually provide for my own sweet tooth."

His blank expression unnerved her.

"Mr. Z is a retired baker."

"Ah. I'll have two muffins then."

"They're mini muffins, so you should probably have more than that. He used to work at a fancy schmancy hotel, so he's the master of the diminutive."

"Whatever you think, Gorgeous."

She turned away from him, but not before he saw the tiny buds of red start to spread across her cheeks. He watched her back and shoulders as she made quick work of the green peppers, mushrooms and tomatoes.

"I like hot food, Doc. Our next door neighbor growing up used to make spicy chicken, spicy omelets, spicy lasagna. Me and my brother, we were the closest thing she had to kids. She even came to my school plays."

"You somehow manage to keep picking up neighbors who specialize in the culinary arts. What is Mr. Z? The third one?"

The relaxation that was starting to set in left and her shoulders bunched up again.

"Deductive reasoning. You had a neighbor as a kid. You probably lived one place in between. Now Mr. Z. You have a way with older people."

Sara waggled a dangerous looking pepper the color of a ripe orange. "I'm not used to people knowing stuff about me without me telling them, Doc."

"If I had to wait for you to tell me, I wouldn't know very much."

"Takes two," Sara shot back.

"Hey, I'm sure that you probably know just as much about me from observation."

Sara cut the pepper in half and squeezed the juices in the skillet. A few seeds landed there too.

"The silence is deafening," Gil half joked.

"You just like being the quiet one, so you surround yourself with talkative people. No, quiet isn't the word. I think you just like the chatter more than you'd like to admit: probably some childhood thing. Isn't that what Freud would say?"

The vegetable and egg mixture followed the pepper juice seeds into the skillet. "My mother's deaf."

The words were out before he knew it. He wanted to validate her intellect and intuitiveness. "I like silence, but I like chatty people, too."

"Chatty women. You surround yourself with chatty women. There's the boss lady, who isn't exactly talkative, but she talks to you. And of course Marg talks your head off. Do you have any male friends?"

"One."

Nimble fingers moved the eggs around. There was something familiar about the movement. It reminded him of the diner he frequented for breakfast.

"Let me guess. Guy's guy. Man of his word. Straight shooter. Probably a-… What do they call them in those cop shows? Loose cannon."

"He's not a loose cannon-exactly."

"Whatevah, Doc."

"My name is Gil."

"Know what your name is. I have your book. I had to know your name to get it."

"What do you think?"

"It's wonderful. Who knew bugs could do all of that?"

He watched as she dashed something red into the skillet. "Got any sausage?"

"You know, as matter fact I do. It's not breakfast sausage."

"Any sausage is a breakfast sausage."

She reached in and pulled a packet from the refrigerator. "Courtesy of Mr. Thoma down the hall."

"Thoma is a Lebanese name, so the sausage must be Margeolic"

They ate in companionable silence, taking cautious looks at one another every now and then. They both took turns looking sheepish and curious. When he was done she took his plate, rinsed it off, put it in the dishwasher. She gave him a long stare as she crossed the threshold of what he assumed was her bedroom.

"Watcha waiting on, Doc? A girl needs her beauty rest. So let's get the show on the road."

In the bathroom, Sara tossed her Ozzy Ozborne t-shirt into the hamper, shucked her black jeans and hung them on the back of the bathroom door. She checked herself out in the mirror, but for what reason she didn't know. She was skinny and some guys liked that. Mostly though, she'd learned that it was usually because they preferred men or kids.

She was glad that the things between her and Doc were about to be settled. He would get what he wanted and he'd continue to help her. It was a fair trade; Doc's book smarts for a little ass. She knew he wouldn't hurt her or raise a hand to her. So it could be worse.

He was surprised to find her in the center of the room pulling her panties down her thin frame. Her words came out in a nervous, sing-songy, and well-rehearsed rush. "Here's the deal, Doc. I'm no hooker, so don't get any funny ideas. That being said, I'm not charging now, or the next time, or the time after that. You can do anything you want except put it in my ass."She kept her eyes averted as she folded her panties into a precise square as she sought to keep her voice steady. "If you bring me a clean bill of health, you don't have to use a condom, and I'll be needing that once a month. Look, I just want you to help me like you've been doing. I figure I need to know things if I want to improve my lot in life. I just don't know what that'll require at this point. I might need some help with money every now and then, but don't go thinking I'm some kinda whore. What do you want me to do first?"

His eyes devoured the sight of her body as she recited the practiced speech. When she was finished, his eyes finally returned to her face and he found that he was willing himself to breath. "Sara, I didn't come here for-… I came here, because I found these and I wanted to talk to you about them."

She squinted at the papers in his hand and he made a mental note that they would need to talk about her eyesight later. He was surprised when she reached for a pair of new looking and quite fashionable glasses. She slipped them on and,

still naked, she walked to where he was and took the letters.

She read them quickly, took off the glasses and looked at him. "Oh."

"I found them by your car."

"Yeah."

"You threw them away?"

"Not really. I guess they fell out when I got out of my car. I've been trying to work up the nerve to show you, or Marg."

"You've nearly missed the deadline. Why didn't you open them?"

Sara sat down on the purple bedspread, crossed her legs and peered up at him. "I don't know. Scared I guess. I mean, I got a job; a good job. I have a few friends. I have a nice place to live and decent neighbors. If I go to college, all that's gonna change."

He pulled the end of the bedspread up and motioned for her to cover herself with it. When she took the spread from him and wrapped it around her, he sat down next to her. "Thought a lot about this, have you?"

She nodded. He was pleased that she didn't appear embarrassed by her earlier assumption and declaration.

"You should at least try, Sara. Why did you take the tests if you didn't want to give it shot?" The use of her given name was like cold water splashing in her face.

She blew away a stray curl that had landed on her nose. "Not gorgeous anymore, now that you have seen my ass?"

He waited a beat, not sure how to respond and not wanting to hurt her, but not wanting to give himself away, either. "Still gorgeous."

She hazarded a look at him and was relieved to see him smiling and sincere. "Sorry I thought you wanted to screw me."

"Don't be sorry. It was a sensible assumption. I show up here without calling, and based on our increasing intimacy, I can understand why you would think that. Seems like you did a lot of thinking about what you were going to say to me, or whomever…"

She jumped in quickly. "No, just you. I've never done this kind of thing before. It's just, I see girls at the club, ya know, and the guy hangs around, he pays special attention, and pretty soon he makes his move. They make a deal and he takes care of her and she takes care of him."

She kicked at imaginary dust across the freshly vacuumed carpet. "Should've known better, I guess. The way you check out Marg. You'd still help me though, wouldn't you, if I decided to go to college?"

"Of course I will. I didn't start helping you because I wanted something from you. And for the record, I think you are worth checking out: probably more than Marg. You have a very different quality, and as much as I like Marg, her qualities are a bit overly contrived."

Sara didn't believe him, but she still appreciated his putting forth the effort.

They sat for a full minute while Gil calculated what he would say next. It was all right there on the table. Sara was offering him everything he thought he wanted. It unnerved him that the offer was so black and white; so crude. He thought about what he really wanted from the slip of a woman that sat next to him; slightly embarrassed. She was just a girl, really: a tough girl, a sweet girl. She was a girl that he dreamed about more than he ever wanted to admit. She wasn't in a terrible situation, but she was in one where she could be easily taken advantage of. Was he going to be one of those men? _Shit! _It looked as if he was.

Sara's surprisingly white teeth worked on her thumb nail. The gap between them showed just a bit. She had once said that she wanted braces, but he believed imperfection made a woman the total of what she was, and there was no such thing as perfection. Or perhaps the imperfection was perfection.

"Whatcha thinking about, Doc?"

"Wondering how I came to a place in my life where I could be sitting here with this stunning young woman and yet, I find it suitable to turn down such a very enticing offer."

Sara

He always made everything sound so elegant and civil. Like he was talking from the page of a romance novel and his name was Lord something or other. Sara smiled and hunched thin shoulders up to her ears. Grissom's hand reached out and touched an earring made of a white metal with minuscule emeralds dotted along the ring. "Those look like a pair that my aunt once owned."

"They were my grandmother's and then my mother's," Sara said softly. When was the last time anyone had touched her? Really touched her? Not the casual brushes in a crowd or the meeting of fingers as she passed a drink. She honestly couldn't remember.

"If someone was to help you… If an arrangement was to be made..."

Sara tried to suppress a tiny grin. She had been right. "I can be a good baby doll, Doc. Gimme a shot?"

He kept his eyes intent on her face. "Honey, I just don't know…"

"You got somebody?"

He shook his head. "Then you should give me a shot. Money back guaranteed. I don't need much just a little to help with school, if I go."

His voice was stern. "Part of any deal we make is that **_you are_** going to college."

Sara threw her arms around his neck and kissed him solidly, and when they finally came up for air he breathed against her. "Okay. Okay."

Gil

I wanted this to be special, our first time. I have thought about it for some time, but now I can't wait for that. My dick is so hard that it's going to break off. _Maybe a blow job or a hand job._

I tug at the quilt she is clutching fiercely and touch the white knuckles of her hand. "Let it go, Honey. Please?"

She does so nearly instantly, catching site of the bulge in my pants.

I am not sure what to say or do anymore. I mean, it's not exactly going to be a cheap fuck. I just want to see what she looks like; to look at the smooth skin beneath that bedspread and to see where all those freckles lead. I'm trying to take it all in, thinking that I might not get another chance.

"I just want to see," I say. "Later, there can be more, but right now, I just want to see."

She shrugs the quilt off of her shoulders and looks away. I put a finger on her jaw and move her face towards me. I want to see her eyes. I run a thumb over her lips. Her lips are full and pouty. I wonder if she likes giving head; if she's good at it, if she would do it for me.

The image of her kneeling before me with her mouth around my cock shoots through my brain.

"You're lovely."

"You don't have…"

"Ssh… Don't… You are absolutely breathtaking." I say emphatically.

She is. It's not a con game to break down what few barriers remain between us.

A ray of light settles on her cheek and I'm reminded that I've never seen her in the light of day before now. From the same window, a soft breeze moves the hair on the side of her face and I wonder how hard she works to keep those natural curls straight. She shouldn't have to work hard to do anything. She's beautiful and smart and young. Her life should be filled with reckless adventures and muscle bound boyfriends.

"Daylight suits you." My hand brushes across her cheek and the light slips over my hand. My hand is dark from ancestry and processing in the field. The apple of her cheek is pale for the same reasons: work and heritage.

There's that blush again. I realize I'm smiling when I see my face reflected in one dark pupil. "You don't have to lie to me, Doc. I don't mind if you have someone. I'm not naive."

"If I had someone… Let's just put it like this. I like women a great deal and monogamy is not my strong suit. I've tried to be honest about that with everyone that I have ever been involved with. I will never ever lie to you, Sara. In my line of work, the lie is always more trouble than the truth."

She nods.

"Would you mind terribly standing up?" I ask, trying to sound stronger than I feel, and somehow I manage to pull it off.

She smiles a little. I know she doesn't want to do it and I don't like the sound of my voice when I ask again. I need time to think, away from Sara. My nether regions are doing most of the talking and I don't like what they are telling me. I could have more worldly women. Women like Sara are a troublesome lot; sweet girls that pull you in with their innocence and wonder.

"It's okay, Honey, you don't to have to… Though I'm fairly certain you wouldn't make a very good stripper at this rate." I brush a hand over the goose flesh that has appeared on her shoulder.

"You cold?"

"I don't think so."

I pull the quilt back up over her shoulders and give her a kiss on the forehead.

"We can do this later. What are you doing the rest of the day?"

Sara

I feel stupid. Here I am, brokering this arrangement with my cavalier grownup attitude, and I can't even let the man see me naked again. What the hell is wrong with me?

Get it together, Sidle! He's nice. He's smart and he wants to do this with you. He can have any girl at the club he wants, and he wants to be with you.

The kiss on my forehead was too brotherly. He's going to bail and I can't say as I blame him. Started of with a bang Sidle. Looks like you're gonna end with a whimper.

"Bathroom through here?" He motions towards the white door of my bathroom. I started painting it, but never finished the job. I was going to add some thin lavender stripes like I saw on Oprah, but I never got around to it. Story of my life.

"You want me to?" I know what he's going to the bathroom for and it makes me feel even more ridiculous.

"We can do this later… When you feel more comfortable."

"Do you want me to?" My hand brushes across the bulge in his pants. "I can. I mean, we have this deal made."

"I don't have any condoms right now."

"Oh." Neither do I. I am so not ready for this.

"I can do it with my hand." I run my fingers over his engorged flesh. The low sound in his throat lets me know that I'm doing this right. I press my palm over the hardness, groping it through the heavy material.

"Honey…" I squeeze again. His mouth goes slack, a puff of invisible air escaping his lips as he struggles to close it again. Moving purely by instinct, I undo the button of his Levis keeping my hand on the material covered swell. His eyes are closed now, and I sigh with relief.

Taking care not to lose contact, or snag any sensitive skin in the zipper, I tug at the jeans until they land just below his hips. I work my fingers over his flesh with one hand and pull the shorts down with the other one. They join his jeans at the bottom of his hips. The maleness of it all surprises me. There he is; rock hard, balls tight, veins standing rigid.

I look up to see a muscle in his neck pulsing, with his breath coming in short bursts. Doc is a deep, slow breather, even when Roxy was shaking her tits in his face. That's how I finally convinced myself that he was interested. Rox doesn't work at the club any longer, because she was a causality of the three strikes and you're out rule. Rox was the headliner before Marg. She broke a number of club rules, including going on stage high and prostitution on club premises.

Rox's game would be to find a whale, and run what could only be described as a sneak attack under the table. Bada Bing Bada Boom: this poor guy's getting a free hand job. Melinda said she was like a crack dealer: give the first hit for free. She had tried her scheme on Doc. It had only lasted for maybe a minute or so, but he got this look on his face. That was the first time the mask slipped. After less than a minute, he marshaled what I considered to be a great deal of strength and removed her hand. He then told Melinda, who'd been suspicious, but now had proof.

His breath had quickened that time, but not nearly as much as right now.

"Ga…" he says.

I think he called my name, but the end of the sound is lost in the back of his throat. The hair is standing up all over my arm. The back of my hand comes in contact with the dark curls nesting around his cock. The urge to take him in my mouth is natural, but completely dangerous. I never understood before when people talked about getting carried away in the moment. I get it now. I get it, but I have no intention of doing it, no matter how much I want to.

"That feels good." He moans. I suppress a triumphant grin and continue stroking him. My hands, never feminine or petite, are perversely suited for this. My long bony fingers work the ridges and grooves in what proves to be satisfying work. I don't know if I should touch his inflated sacks. The feather light touch releases a painful sounding wail.

"Sara, I won't be able to-..."

"Relax. Just feel good."

He pulls me up by one elbow and my face slips past the supple fabric of the white shirt. My nose catches a bit of spice left over from breakfast on the way up. Lips meet lips and tongues play out an aggressive symphony.

"So good, honey. Feels good... Smell Good... Good," he grunts against my hair as his hips begin to work in tandem with my hand.

His hand caresses the spot made warm by sun. The kiss starts out slow and sweet, but it quickly gives away to a deliciously teenage sloppiness, and then finally a purely adult heat. This is what girls my age do in the back seat of cars or in parentless houses. His hands have started their own movement, working on the sweat soaked curls at the nape of my neck. His mouth leaves fluttering kisses on its way to my ear.

His tongue snakes and in and out of the canal and it's made crystal clear that Gil Grissom is no kid.

Gil

"Your turn to relax," I say, my voice thick with my impending orgasm. Her mouth is perfectly seasoned with berries and spices. Her full mouth takes me under and then releases me. Just when I catch my breath, the sensation of her hand over my cock takes it away and I am drowning again. She has found a spot on the underside of my shaft and her short nails dance over it skillfully. Her other hand has wound around my neck and is aggressively working and massaging my scalp.

This erotic fumbling in which we are engaged is beyond foreplay and very dangerous, and I really couldn't care less. Of all the people in the world, I know too well what the arrival of pre-cum means, and I know I need to stop. I need to stop Sara. She's just so young and sweet. I don't want to upset her or make her reconsider.

Then it happens, before I can even begin to get myself together. I shoot what is left of my sanity all over Sara's hand, bedspread and hardwood floor.

Fireworks cloud my vision and I nip a little at her earlobe. "Sogoodhoney…"

Mortified at my inability to control even this simple situation, I lift my head from her thick hair to meet her eyes, and I find myself intensely jealous of the lip she's biting and wondering what else I can do to keep that look on her face.


	3. Chapter 2point5

**AN/ I promised you guys once at least once week and I'm trying to hold to that. I have a great deal of this story already laid out. This newest chapter was not part of the plan. Thus the 2.5. Thank you for your reviews and your support. It means a great deal. As always thanks to Losingintranslation and Michelle for their hard work.**

Sara.

The human race is built on the survival premise. You do what you have to do in order to make it through the next day. No one starts out with any intention of dealing or whoring. Everyone knows that kind of stuff is a dead end deal. You do it so you can make it to the next day-maybe. You reap what you sow and there's no two ways about it. Everyone knows you are gonna get it in the end for selling someone's 12 year old kid crack. But it's not the end you are concerned with. You are only trying to make it to the next minute, the next hour and, if you are very lucky, the next day.

So what I am sowing by doing this thing with Doc? I mean, am I really whoring myself out? Or am I taking advantage of him?

I don't know. I don't want to think about it. I sure hope not.

You really can't do that when you're operating in survival mode; dwell on stuff that is. I mean Bill Gates might have time to consider the morality of various social and economic decisions, but Sara Sidle does not. I can try and treat myself and all the people involved with as much dignity as possible, and just hope that God, or Allah, or whoever, understands that I'm doing the best I can.

Courtesan, mistress, concubine, paramour: those are the words we use to describe the particular lifestyle I've just entered. I will not be dating anyone else. I will not be sleeping with anyone else. I belong to him. I should probably have some feminist tendencies flaring up now. But actually, it just makes me feel...safe. That makes me nervous.

The truth of it is, I chose Doc 'cause he was safe and cute and sweet. I could've been with a bunch of guys who had a thing for me, but it was only Doc who I'd let in. Doc, who never said anything strange or pressed the issues. Doc, who walked me to my car once or twice and never tried to do the dreaded lean in or ass grab. Doc, who could run new assholes with his dead stare and the flexing right hand at his side.

Unable to sleep and feeling slightly out of sorts, I open my nightstand drawer and take out a sheet of lavender paper.

I print the date, the time and the familiar greetings.

_Dear Mom,_

_You won't believe it. Your little girl is going to college._

Observation-Gil

The shadowy world of morally right or wrong was one that Gil Grissom tried not to inhabit. Sure he had his own set of beliefs, morays and ideas on how one's life should be lived, but those did not require large amounts of thought. He just did what he felt was right and tried to stay away from what he felt was wrong. Too much actual thought about the subject, he believed, would affect his work.

He didn't want to think about the father who'd killed his daughter's molester. With too much reflection, the temptation to skew the interpretation of the evidence would lure him away from the clean lines of science. And that hypothetical man had, in fact, made a decision that he would suffer whatever consequences life handed him. It was not up to Gil, or any other criminalist to tamper with fate just because they "understood' why a criminal had done what he'd done.

He tried to push away the thoughts of the woman he'd just left and the morality of their situation or perhaps the lack of morality

If one were to look only on the surface, this was exactly the kind of arrangement in which a man such as himself would want to be involved. His nature was not a monogamous one. The wonderful women who'd been in his life knew that and they accepted it; or they didn't and moved on. His sex drive was sometimes a liability, sometimes an asset. It changed with the circumstances. He often felt that his needs and demands were too much for any one woman. With Alana, the only woman he had even come close to marrying, he'd found a sexual satisfaction he thought never possible. Her body and its responses seemed as if they were created just for him. Perhaps it had been.

The problem was he wanted her all the time, and in every way imaginable. However, he could never bare his desires to her completely, because he knew that his insatiable need for her would frighten her away. His natural propensity to hide any lack of satisfaction had driven a wedge between them. The smart thing would have been to tell her the truth.

Instead, he had retreated into arctic smiles and monosyllabic conversations. The day she left, they'd made love three times in 24 hours and all he could think about was how could he tell his perfect little minx that he still wanted more? Rightfully, she only wanted him to fall sleep, for him to hold her and stroke her hair.

It certainly was not the first time this had happened: his retreating, her begging for him to share. It would, however, be the last time. She said, again, that she felt as if she didn't know him.

Before he could stop himself, the words had shot straight from his gut, "You wouldn't like me if you knew me, sweetheart."

She'd left. He'd wept. His relationship with the dark-haired, hazel-eyed beauty was the one thing he wished he could do over. The emptiness she left in his head and heart was the one thing he did not think he could ever bear again.

In all other relationships, he was generous with his time and his money. He tried never to leave any woman bitter, always telling them that he was the problem. They always believed him, because it was always the truth.

He tried to think about why that was. Dead father and deaf mother aside, he had experienced very little trauma in his life. Sure, there were a few bad years in high school, but even those weren't horrible.

He really had nothing to explain his proclivities, nor did he try. Perhaps it was just wacky genes or misfiring neurons. It really didn't matter. Excuses were potholes of complacency and self satisfaction. One could try and change behavior or accept it. If the behavior was reprehensible, then one should try and change it. His did not fall into the reprehensible category.

So, on the face of it, this polite contract that he and Sara had agreed upon should have been a thing of his dreams. As he understood it, he could see other women, as long as he was respectful and practiced safe sex. Sara wasn't asking for fidelity, only honesty.

The one act that she was hesitant about, he was fairly certain that he might able to coax her into it, under the right circumstances. Not that he had to have Sara, or any woman for that matter, in that way. The rational, "good" part of him would probably assert that dwelling on that particular subject spoke to his need to control everything, including the people he cared about. It had very little to do with any preferred sexual activity. Why else would he dwell on something that he'd only done a few times, enjoyed, but did not necessitate his sexual satisfaction?

The white hot reality lay in the fact that he could not stand the thought of her keeping any part of herself from him. What was this woman doing to him?

Those were his thoughts on the matter as he shed his clothes and lay down upon in his bed-alone.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N As always thanks to Jennifer and Michelle. Sorry this is late but at the last minute I decided to go to the YTDAW convo in Vegas which was a blast! **

Chapter 3

Sara

I have been sitting in the parking lot for 15 minutes past when I was supposed to report to the Carol Mendelsohn Forensic Arts and Sciences building. My registration is folded in thirds on the grey, freshly shampooed seat of my car. I registered online three weeks ago. I did everything online at Gil's townhouse. I don't think he exactly wants me over there. But he didn't let on and I did everything in one session. I haven't been invited back since. I completed all of my school tasks online, including buying my books. Those are waiting for me in the campus bookstore, packed and ready to go, except for the two I found for a dollar on EBAY.

The only thing I can't do online is present my real self for first semester authentication. Gotta make sure that Mata Hari isn't registering at Sunny Valley Community College. They just want to know I am a real person. I have my birth certificate, my driver's license and my social security card. I also have my very own, shiny new credit card for incidentals. Actually, it's not my credit card. It's Gil's. It just has my name on it. I haven't used it yet, preferring to use the prepaid credit card he gave me. After all the documents have been verified and they take my thumb print, I will get my official student ID. I submitted a digital picture that Gil took of me.

All I have to do now is open my car door and walk less than 20 feet to the entrance of the building. I start breathing slow and even. One, two, three. My cell phone rings. A manic beetle appears across the screen: Gil. I have got to get out of the car. I silence the phone without answering it and leave the vehicle.

I worked on this outfit for a week. I bought Glamour, Vogue and Elle. What is the fashionable young coed wearing this fall? I narrowed it down to very dark but worn in jeans, salmon pink pullover that shows a hint of belly, super dark sunglasses with oversized frames. Then I topped it all off with some dewy pink gloss, tinted moisturizer, clear mascara and now I feel like a complete fraud. I just don't look like one.

I made Marge give me all the handbags, sunglasses and other accessories she hadn't worn in three months. She whined. I ignored. She grumbled about not thinking Gil would mind keeping me looking good. But she hasn't seen my book bill, or she'd know that Gucci sunglasses are way down on my list of necessities.

Walking like my mother taught me (head held high and long legs leading me instead of dragging behind like I am want to do), I land in front of the office too fast for my nerves. I forge ahead following the red "registration arrows" a few feet. A Victoria Gotti look-alike takes off a pair of owl glasses and tilts red rimmed eyes up at me. The blue color reminds me of Gil.

I take out the waterproof envelope that has my birth certificate and hand it to her. "Birth certificate." I say cheerily. "And if you will give me a second I have my driver's license here."

She takes the envelope and opens it without looking at the outside. Her eyes are still trained on me. "Are you that model?" she asks in a New York accent.

"What?…"

"You know. Well if it was you'd know." She looks around. "Unless you're pulling one over on me. Am I bein', watcha call it? Punk'd?"

I want to tell her that she is too old to be punk'd by MTV, but quickly think better of it. After all, she's the proverbial gatekeeper. Actually she's the literal gatekeeper.

"I'm Sara Sidle," I say, not knowing what else to say.

She puts the spectacles back on and looks at the documents I proffered. . "Oh yeah, Sidle. Dr. Rambo wanted to see you." She hits a button on her phone and works at diminishing the accent. "Dr. Rambo. Sidle's here."

"Did I do something wrong with my registration?" I shift my weight a bit. Then I remember not to slump.

"No dear. Yours was probably the only one. I can always tell who just left high school and who is a bit older by the registration forms. Grown ups read directions. Who knew a genius could look like you? Mostly they come in with pocket protectors and thick glasses. They… That's a laugh. There have only been four in the last decade: you, that irritating Hodges kid who couldn't get any decent references for Yale because no one liked him, Sanders who only lasted a semester before the Stanford people descended, and what's his face, that dot com guy."

I smile nervously at the friendly woman, wondering if I should take a seat.

"Don't sit hon," she says as if reading my mind. He'll be right out."

A dark haired, youngish looking man steps from some hidden room. He takes long steps towards me.

"Sidle, Sara." He says evenly.

"Yes."

"I was going to offer you the job before I got your test results, but I thought you might want to know what your IQ was and of course I don't get to meet many geniuses. Well, that's not true. I don't get to meet any geniuses that are actually my students."

"Test results?

"Yes, the test you took when you finalized your registration. I make all my majors take it. Helps justify a ridiculous budget. And if you tell anyone that I said it was ridiculous, I will plead the fifth. You aren't taping me are you, Alice?"

Alice rolls her eyes. She's heard the joke before. "No, Doc. No one is taping you."

"The 100 question thingy?" I ask

He nods seriously. "Exactly. With your scores I really had no choice."

"Job?"

"I am creating the questions, not answering them. Each department is required to staff the Learning Center with two students - one first year and one second year. Given your education history it was a push, but what with your IQ test, it became decidedly less so. Probably got bored in high school, huh? That why you dropped out?"

"Um…"

"Don't answer that, just makes those of us with regular intelligence jealous. Myself included," he deadpans and winks at Alice.

"About this job?"

"Sorry. Only two days a week. You tutor people in chemistry and physics. In return, you don't have to take Chem101 or Physics 101. It also awards you a five hundred dollar scholarship. That's for the year, not the semester. And we pay you a whopping ten dollars an hour."

"So, that's in addition to the other scholarship?"

"Yes, indeedy."

Alice interrupted. "You paid your bill already so come the second week of class, you'll get a check. And don't' forget about the book credit, Doc."

"What-oh." Dr. Rambo's thin lips take up their spitfire rhythm again. "Alice keeps me honest, so I won't try and use the credit for myself. Hehe. Yes… We give you a hundred dollar credit per year, not per semester, in the bookstore. What do you say? Will you accept?"

"I don't know." I want to call Gil. I should call him.

"Take it honey," Alice says. "You got nothing to loose, and ya don't have to take those classes."

"Okay," is all I can say.

Observation

James Lincoln Brass sidled up to his friend quietly. He placed his elbows on the counter mimicking Grissom's own posture. "So, you dumped me."

Gil didn't look up from the roll beetle he was dissecting. "What?"

"Your message. You aren't going to take me to the opera or the baseball game."

"Sorry," Gil said, distractedly. A slight smirk filled out his face. "Here's a thought. Maybe you should, I don't know… Buy yourself tickets?"

"You don't buy yourself tickets," Brass whined good-naturedly.

"True, but I was graduated from high school when I was 15 and college when I was 19. A great adulthood is the best revenge."

"I don't think it's right that you get to keep the free stuff and I don't." Brass continued to complain, and not the first time in their friendship.

"I'm not a cop. I don't work for the city... Or the state, for that matter. I am a hired gun. An ethical hired gun, but a hired gun, none the less. They show me on TV from time to time. It looks good to have me on boards and at parties. You, however, might be influenced by these little perks. And you don't look as good on CNN."

"What's her name?" Jim slipped in the question, hoping the beetle Grissom was trying to revive would distract him.

"Nice try."

"The lovely Melinda?"

"That was a fling; albeit a nice fling."

"When is it not with you?"

The beetle sprang to life. Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I make no promises to anyone."

"Yeah, but you are taking them to my baseball games."

"It's like this. You can take the tickets or I can take the tickets, but no where in my life will it seem right to be rubbing against your hairy thigh during the 9th inning as opposed to one non-hairy thigh. It's just a couple of games, Jim, not forever."

Grissom took off his lab coat and looked around for his leather satchel.

"Just a couple of games? Yeah that's why you gave me like two months notice?" Brass mimicked in a high voice scrunching his nose as he did so.

"Next thing I know you'll be reading Dr. Phil books and eating tofu."

The sadness of Grissom's smile did not reach his blue eyes. "It's not like that, Jim."

Jim wondered if he believed his own lie. Who was this girl that had his friend making plans?

Gil

Sara pounces on me as soon as I walk in the door. Slim hands round my neck, she kisses me soundly.

"Guess what?" she asks.

"What if I don't care?" My hands rest on the swell of her ass.

"You care." She smiles and kisses me. For an instant I forget about the money and our first time together. .

I walk her over to the couch and she slides down my legs, pulling me down with her.

"Guess." She kisses me again.

"If you don't stop kissing me, I won't be able to guess. Well, not now, at least."

She leans back. "'Kay. Guess."

I close my eyes tightly and put three fingers to my temple. "Thinking… Thinking… Thinking…"

She giggles, hugs me close, burying her head in the crook of my neck as she does. "The Great Gissiny says. No. No, it's not clear." I sigh dramatically.

My eyes pop open and to her astonishment I say, "No, wait… You were declared a genius by the National Association for Forensics Examiners."

She scans her eyes around the room. "Okay, that was spooky, even for you and me. Did I leave something lying around?"

"Tell you what. I will let you in on the super secret genius perception."

"Your mind perceives things before your eye can even register it?" is Sara's wide eyed response.

"No. Ran into Dr. Rambo at lunch with Jim. He's going to write for some Forensics series. Wants me to consult. Sounded kind of boring. He went on and on about this new student who had registered for his program and, according to test scores, was a genius. He was excited because she turned out to be a looker, too. I don 't mean to besmirch your school, Honey, but that could only be you."

She kisses me again. "I didn't even know he was paying attention to me? He rambles." Slim arms slip through mine and she puts her head on my shoulder.

She might be playing me, but I don't really care anymore. "He's not blind, honey. Just a bit befuddled." "

"So, what is YOUR IQ?" she asks as her warm breath tickles my ear and I suddenly want to take her out somewhere special. We spend too much time cooped up in this apartment. Which is fine by me, but I am supposed to be showing her more of the world. I push the fact that she is quickly becoming my world to the back of my mind.

"No clue."

"Well, then how do you know if you're a genius?"

"Other's perceptions of me? They said it on CNN once and then it ended up on my book jacket and so on and so on."

Her eyes are bright with excitement. No crinkles appear around her eyes and I'm struck by just how young she is. She has on a white t-shirt and dark jeans. Her feet are bare and her toes are covered in shiny pink polish. With minimal effort, she looks like something out of a magazine. I turn to kiss her, hard. She giggles and breaks off.

"But you are, aren't you?"

"I must be. I've got a beautiful woman attacking me at the door."

"That settles it," she agrees happily. Her eyes find the white shopping bag that I left at the door. "What did you buy this time? You need some help; an intervention, maybe. I think you have a gadget addiction."

"I was in the mall… It's a wireless router."

"You have one of those." She fake groans and walks over to the door and peers in. "What's in the big box?"

"Well, I did buy something else." I love this part - the part where I get to see the light in her eyes.

"You don't say."

"For you."

She pulls opens the box. I wait. She stares at the laptop. The laptop she spent an hour reading about on my computer.

"The Sony Vaio? You bought me the Sony Vaio?" Her mouth opens but nothing comes out. I wonder if I did something wrong as she runs a thumb across the silver gray metal of the laptop

Sara

"Doc-Gil. You've already done so much. I-I can't take this." My face is suddenly hot and I feel a buzzing in my ears. I hate that I said it. And now, I can't take it back. His eyes go soft for a split second, and then he frowns.

"Of course you can take it," he says. I know he means it. Hell, that's not true. He could be totally playing me. He's older, seen things, done things. This is not Gil Grissom's first rodeo.

"Gil, it's too much. I know how much this thing costs and I appreciate it, but I was researching it because I have a little extra with everything that you have done. I can't. It wouldn't be right."

"Sara, it's just a laptop; trivial electronics and wires." He inches closer to me, his thigh touching mine. Warm lips grazed my ear. "Gorgeous, you have given much more than this little box cost. You let me…" Warm breath creates a trail down my check and lands on my shoulder."

"A woman. A woman as smart as you are. As attractive as you. For a woman like you to give me herself. To give me herself for the first time, for real. I'm honored. This is just a box, Sara. Please take it. Please don't deny me the pleasure that I receive when I give you these…these…gifts. Don't deny me, honey. You haven't denied me anything else."

"It's just that…I know… I know that I'm not what you expected." What the hell does that mean Sidle?

He holds my face in his hands. "You are more than I expected."

I smile at him. I do that when I can't figure out what else to do. It's pretty lame but it seems to work. The things one learns working at a strip club.

We have been doing this for six weeks and even I know when too much is too much. He says that school isn't a big problem 'cause he doesn't really pay for tuition with my scholarship and all. He says a little spending money is not a problem. He doesn't seem to think anything is a problem. But honestly, it's making me a bit nervous and I don't want to get too comfortable. My plan was to stock pile some cash and be ready to get out if need be. Then he says stuff like the little speech he just gave. I have no idea what I am supposed to do with this kind of information. "Gil, I do work. It's not like I don't. I can buy my own laptop."

"I want to talk to you about that." His expression morphs into something hard and stubborn. Not good. I have only seen that look a few times and it usually proceeds a foot being put down on my ass. "Don't get that look. I don't want you to quit. I do want you to cut back." A flicker of something causes his lips to disappear into a hard line. Before I can identify it, he's smiling again.

"Why?" I'm not going to be one of those women who's got nothing to fall back on.

"Because you work at night and although I know this is going to be a breeze for you, it's important that you focus."

"Yeah." I try to match his smile.

"Sara, I promise. You don't have to quit your job. I will never make you quit your job. But you can't work every night." He's giving me a half grin now. "Besides I think I might be a little spoiled. If you work and go to school then something will fall through the cracks. And I don't like falling into cracks."

"Yeah, I know." He's a man after all.

"Trust me?"

"I don't know." I never meant to admit that out loud. I really need to do something about my mouth.

His hand runs through his hair and I watch as his uncle's s gold signet slides through the curls.

"That's fair. Tell you what. Try it a month, my way, and if you don't like it: back to your way. How's that? And on the condition that computer doesn't replace my quality time?"

We look into one another eyes. "Don't know how I would go about doing that, Doc."


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N Thanks to Jennifer and Michelle. Thanks to all who read and review. It means a great deal. **

Sara

I wake up and he's gone. He's always gone. I didn't expect much else, but for some reason, it still disappoints me every time. I can feel the stickiness of him between my leg and the scent of my sugar daddy It's a ritual: he leaves, I wash.

My bathroom light has always been too bright, and lately I hardly even bother to turn it on. Instead, I prefer to light one of the candles my mother sends me from prison. She's in a minimum security joint where they make stuff and sell it in gift shops all over California. My mother runs the candle making shop. My dad was wrong. She did find a use for all of her hocus pocus. Take that, you asshole.

She won't put me on the visitor's list. Says she doesn't want me to see her like that. I told her I don't care about that, I just want to see her. They might parole her in two years and I've promised myself that I'll have a place for us. It doesn't seem such a far off goal these days.

After the water in the shower warms up, I step inside. The water hits my skin and knocks the perpetual cold from my skin and bones. Gil says I should get checked for anemia. One thing at a time, I tell him.

I start singing. I don't have a great voice, but it's solid and melodic. It reminds me of my mother's and that scares me. But not enough to stop singing.

As I reach for the shampoo, I realize it is more expensive than anything I would have ever bought before. Mostly, I've used Suave, but Gil read the label and said one of the ingredients dries out hair like ours. So I switched. The conditioner is till Suave, but I am getting there. One thing at a time Sidle, one thing.

"Honey?" The voice scares me because it's a man's voice mingled with sounds of my mother's voice in my singing.

Coming back to my senses, I recognize it. "Gil, what are you still doing here?"

Steam mixes with his deep, shaky voice"I was wondering if it would be okay if I stayed? Feel free to say no. It won't change anything. I won't be angry. You deserve your space." His last phrases come out in a quick jumble that I can barely make out.

There it is then - space. I told myself I needed space. I always tell myself that. I don't want to end up in the state pen just because I need space. Would my mother have done what she did if she'd had space? Of course it's more complicated than that, but still...

"Are you okay?" I question. Gil is not one to let his guard down very much. He is very male in regards to control. He must believe, or have the illusion, that he controls the situation. The things you learn in a strip club.

"Fine. Look, Honey, forget I even asked. I had no ri-"

Is he kidding me? Of course he has rights.

"No! Stay!"Shampoo has bypassed stinging my eyes and is seeping into my mouth. I push back the shower curtain. I need to see his face. I need to see his eyes.

"You're okay? You aren't sick?"

His face is so handsome. It still startles me to know that it sorta belongs to me now. That's my face.

"I wouldn't saddle you with a sick man, Gorgeous."

"You could…you know."

He is staring at my waist. Not my bush or my breast, but my waist. The scar. Damn, I forgot. You can only see it when I get too hot or take a shower.

Gil

I should've gone home. I should've made myself coffee and slunk out while she slept or pretended to sleep. Can't do it tonight, though. The girl on the table. Her name was Debbie. She was 21. I think Sara is 22. She was pre-med, though her friends said she had decided to become a nurse; a pediatric nurse. She knew it was going to be hard, but she didn't care. She loved kids and someday she wanted a large family.

After Sara and I made love we dozed. I woke first and watched her, as usual. Before this case, the sooty eyelashes dancing across pale skin comforted me. That sharp chin, out of place on anyone else, until tonight. Sara's particular set of interesting, slightly off kilter looks had warmed me, until I saw Debbie Marlin dead on the floor of her bathroom.

She just a girl really, had a new boyfriend at the beginning of every term. He was her fourth boyfriend; if he could even be called that. Her routine involved breaking up with them during the semester break, just like she had this time, when school was out and it was less messy.

The alluring coed had gotten herself involved with an adjunct professor. I'm pretty sure he thought he was the aggressor There were no overt rules against their liaison. She wasn't Dr. Lurie's student; never had been. He didn't teach much and he still had a small, private practice. But he also worked to raise funds for the department.

Lurie probably thought he was different. He was older, settled, and he thought she just needed stability. He was a man not intimidated by her strong will and overt sexuality. She just needed someone to take care of her. And of course, there was the financial help he provided.

I nearly laughed at the almost identical situations as Brass explained the scenario. It's either laugh or cry right?

Dr. Lurie was prematurely gray, but the same age as I am. Sara had recently found a patch of quickly graying hair at the base of my neck. She assured me it was sexy with a giggle and a quick hug. Dr. Lurie had dated his fair share of women his own age. Sara had made some not so subtle references to my brief affair with Melinda and other rumors I refuse to confirm. He was brilliant. Sara thinks I'm brilliant. Yes, it's either tears or bravado.

Greg, my young assistant, pointed out the obvious as we collected evidence from the perimeter of the body. My "no shit" look shut him up. Greg is a working on his PH. D in Forensic Biology He's a first rate criminalist, but sometimes he just talks too much.

"_Hey boss, she looks just like the girl at Melinda's. This is so weird. Are we sure it's not Sunshine?"_

I had taken Greg to Melinda's a few times. The boy was very green and I'm pretty sure he's still a virgin. I know what it's like to be THAT guy: the smart guy who suddenly becomes the handsome guy. And then instantly the girls like him. You have all these opportunities, but you don't' know what to do with them. I figured the first step for Greg would be seeing a real naked woman. He goes on his own now, at lunch, when the show is still pretty good, but the expected tips are more in his budget.

There were no Japanese symbols across her abdomen. It wasn't Sara.

Even before seeing the dead woman, I did not want to go to her apartment. Not after Jim's description of the case. I did not want to see my life reflected in another. But no matter what I wanted, there was no way around it. In addition to my entomologist duties, I pinch hit as a general criminologist when the county staff is stretched thin. There were three homicides in a four hour period. Greg and I, much to his excitement, were up.

I called Sara on our way there, ignoring the quizzical look that Greg gave me. He wasn't used to seeing me on the phone.

"_Hey," I said softly willing the edge in my voice to disappear._

"_Where are you?" she said breathlessly. I could hear the door to her car door closing. _

"_On my way to a scene. You okay?"_

"_Fine," she said distractedly. I heard another female voice in the background. "Getting something to eat with Kelly."_

_Her new friend from school. She needs friends her own age._

"_Okay, well, just checking..." I just needed to here her voice_

_I listened gratefully as she told her companion her food order. _

"_Call me when you get done, 'K?" she asked._

"_Sure," I hung up the phone and directed my car and directed my SUV into the setting sun._

Looking at the ancient beams that ran overhead and the highly polished hardwood floors, Brass wondered if she'd come from money. I had seen her on the floor of her bathroom, her pretty head bashed in, blood matting pooling across the floor. I didn't need anyone to tell me about the dead occupant of this apartment. She was fun, sweet and perfect. There was some man; there would always be some man willing to pay. They'd pay for the gleaming hardwood floors, the sexy baubles, the natural light that accentuated her beauty and they would be happy to do it.

The men men in Debbie's life would pay for computers and books and school fees so she wouldn't leave.

And she'd keep him around, for a while. Maybe even for a while longer than the others. He might last a year, or hell, he might even make it two, until he was no longer useful or interesting or fun or suited for whatever need she'd picked him to fill. Then she'd trade up. Grissom surmised that the victim had probably started with a sweet, shy freshman, then realizing that she was much smarter than he was, she moved on to a sweet, good natured fraternity boy from first generation money. After that, there would be the less shy, but still vulnerable TA and finally the alpha male of college life, a professor. When she married, and girls like this always did, she'd marry a law student or a med student with infinite potential and very little past. She would have enough of a past for both of them In the end, Brass had found that the freshman had been a sophomore and the fraternity boy was actually a president of the most exclusive fraternity on campus. The TA was also a Dupont, as well as a minor member of the British royal family. The professor: a genius medical doctor who spent his free time working on a cure for cancer. It was all very literary.

The faculty claimed that she ruined the man. Cautious admiration kept them from calling her an outright slut, but the terms Mata Hari and Black Widow were dropped when talking about her. But he knew more than any of them. She had neither ruined him nor promised him anything. Debbie Marlin didn't lie. Dr. Lurie just didn't listen. It was clear what had happened within the first few hours of the case. Once they cataloged the bills she probably hadn't opened and most certainly could not have paid. Once they'd downloaded her voicemail and listened to the five messages Lurie had left (the last one somewhere between hysteria and rage). I knew exactly what had happened by the time Greg read the fourth email message aloud, shaking his head and commenting that he never wanted to get it that bad.

I hoped he'd never have it that bad either. You didn't ease into this kind of feeling. There would always be some kind of implosion. One could only hope to minimize the damage.

Lurie lives two miles away from me. I can't think what would happen if he ever sees Sara. He won't.

She's asleep now, snoring slightly (she does that when the air is too dry), one lean hand resting on the freckled skin of her waist and her sharp chin jutting out just a bit less than the other woman's. The mouth was the same though. It was coral and curved, impudently sloping softy towards the finger he ran across her lips.

Sara

He's really scaring me. Not to say I am scared of him, but he's got me in a death grip, his fingers digging into my shoulders first and then my sides. I tried to move away at first, but that seemed to agitate him even more.

This was not how I'd envisioned our first full night together, with him snarling and murmuring in his sleep. That case must've really shook him up.

"I'd never hurt her." He keeps saying that over and over again. I assume he's talking about me, but who the hell is he talking to?

"Never hurt her." He's louder this time, slurring the last of his words.

Hot breath warms the top of my scalp as he grins. "She's special. You don't under...so special. More than...anyone."

The heat of his breath is followed by the surprised sting of something wet. I manage to pull barely a millimeter away, and strain to see his face in the dark. Dawn's light illuminates the damp streaks that disappear into his five day old beard. He was going to shave it, but then I told him I like the scruff.

I pull my hand up and it brushes over his bare chest. He's talking again as my index finger wipes away one tear, and then two.

"Don't leave me. Never leave me. Whatever you want, just don't leave." His voice is gentle and desperate now. Not quite yelling, but close. It doesn't startle me as much as it should. I slide my body up a bit, so that we are lying face to face. His eyes are still firmly shut.

I kiss one eye, digesting the last of his tears. "Baby, I won't leave if don't want me to go. I won't"

TBC


	6. Chapter 5

A/N So now we are on to a little introspection for our heroes. Thanks so much to Michelle and Jennifer. Next we shall have some sexual relations.

Sara

Gil… He keeps saying that I should call him that, but it still sounds weird to me. We've been screwing for a while now, and I have to admit I'm a little intoxicated with the power it's giving me. It's becoming pretty clear that he digs me more than just a little bit.

We have a routine now. He comes to the club, sits near the back in a little booth where no one can see him. He doesn't even pretend to be watching the show anymore unless Jasmine or Rachel are onstage. He sits there and reads, or works on his laptop. He pays his cover and gives his two drink minimum to whoever is sitting at the bar because he's driving me home. He's real responsible like that.

He leaves work, picks me up, takes me to work and then when I get off, we go back to my place. When I asked him why he doesn't have a schedule at work, he told me that he's a contract worker. I didn't really understand what it means. I guess it means he doesn't always work 40 hours, but still gets paid plenty. He also does these lectures all over the state. I guess that's why he has such a nice income and can afford all this stuff - and me. He drives this sporty Lexus just like some of the girl's at school drive. Sara Sidle being chauffeured around in a luxury car; who would've thought that would ever happen?

School… That was another surprise. It would seem that I'm going to school at the rich girl refuge. I thought junior college was just full of ordinary people. But Sun Valley is where the trust fund babies who couldn't buy their way into Vassar or Stanford go to pass the time. I was a little freaked out at first 'cause I thought I stuck out like a sore thumb. But apparently skinny girls dressed in midnight black are the only requirements for fitting in at SVJC.

Apparently, they try to get some actual smart people to help some of the more academically challenged students get through school.

My work study job… Work study; what a laugh! They pay me ten bucks an hour to sit in the Learning Center and help people with first year Chemistry. Sometimes the students want to pay me to tutor them outside of the learning center. I was just going to charge them the same ten bucks and hour I get from the college. But Gil said I could charge twenty since I was an 'independent contractor'After I started getting the tutoring jobs, Gil said I had to cut back on my hours at the club 'cause I wasn't going to be able to do everything. I told him that my classes were really easy and that I could do both jobs _AND_ get good grades. But he still said no. And when I brought home my first molecular biology test with a perfect score, he still wouldn't let me start back at the club full time. He said it just proves his theory of what I can do when I have time to study. I dunno, I guess he's right.

Melinda wasn't mad like I thought she would be. She just laughed and said she saw this one coming and that I would always have my hours back if things didn't work out. That was a relief, 'cause Gil is hung up on me now, but we all know that'll change. Mamma didn't raise no fools. He's gonna want to get married and have kids some day. That doesn't mean he'll get rid of me completely, but it'll definitely cut back on the cash he gives me.

At first, I showed him the receipts where I paid for my car insurance, my books and my lab fees like Marge told me to do so he wouldn't think I was wasting money or taking him for a ride. But he told me he didn't need them. It was my money to do what I wanted to with. He trusted me not to put it up my nose or in my arm. Let me tell you, he got fucked but good that night. Not that I don't give my all every time, considering this is a business arrangement of sorts. I just thought he deserved something a little extra for that comment.

I like having sex with him. At first it was just nice. He was gentle and sweet and kissed me all over and I was sort of surprised. 'Cause he gets that look sometimes. Like a wolf that would be better off in the wild. So the tenderness was unexpected. After a week he asked me if I had ever had an orgasm. I told him I hadn't, but that it was okay 'cause I read this book once that says some women just aren't built that way and have a hard time with that. So he shouldn't think it was his fault. I like sleeping with him. It feels good just being close to another person. I was aroused, I just didn't cum.

Eventually he figured out what would make me come and I have been screaming my head off ever since. And so, here I am, Sara Sidle, in a luxury car with a sugar daddy, going to college, getting paid to tutor rich kids and having mind blowing sex. Who would've thunk it?.

Tonight is Wednesday, and he's been pretty busy, from what I can tell on TV. Someone found three bodies in an abandoned house. I saw Gil on CNN just before my Chemistry class. He's been at the scene all day, and I truthfully didn't think I would see him tonight. But he called 20 minutes outside of town saying he was on his way. I managed to put together a respectable dinner of fruit salad, veggie pizza and Mr. Z's raspberry torte, all of which he was terribly grateful for.

After dinner, I rubbed his shoulders with an herbal liniment my mom used to make, which made him fall right to sleep. He ended up snoring louder than I have ever heard him as he laid face down on my new sheets. That was to be expected. Gil works so hard. Harder than anyone I know, but that was four hours ago and his mouth is still half open with stale beer wafting between us.

He turned in his sleep a few minutes ago to face me, but he's still not touching me. His arms are folded oddly and his biceps are straining with the effort.

"What?" Both of his eyes are open now, even if the left one is still slightly closed.

"You're awake."

"I am." He closes both eyes again, "Now I'm going back to sleep." He turns his back to me. And now I can see the wound on his shoulder, the one I bandaged and cleaned. It looks like I did a pretty good job.

"Okay." He rolls further away from me, giving me a full view of his smooth, sinewy back. Minutes past and his deep rhythmic breathing signals sleep again. I run my right index over his back, careful not to agitate the sensitive skin near his wound.

Gil works out, but not obsessively. He doesn't look overripe like some men, but he isn't chiseled either.

Something fell on him at the scene today. He wouldn't tell me what it was, but as soon as I saw him moving slow and wincing, I knew it wasn't good. I helped him off with his shirt and found that the blood tacked it to his back. It was the first time I saw him with his shirt off when he wasn't tugging at my own clothes.

_My eyes traveled down his torso and landed on his flat belly then back up again. He turned his back so that I could see the wound. I'm totally mesmerized by the sight of him and I barely that the slash just over his right shoulder is red and surrounded by vague purple bruising._

_He looked back over his shoulder, his hands resting on my counter. _

"_What are you doing? I thought you were going to make it better," he said softly._

"_What happened? Why didn't you tell me?" I'm worried now. Nothing's supposed to hurt Gil. "I can't believe they'd let you leave like this."_

"_I didn't think it was that bad. Until I was on the road 10 minutes."_

"_What hit you?" I ask._

"_Guess?"_

_I gave a skeptical snort._

"_Suppose I was dead and couldn't tell you and you had to avenge my death." He said simply, brushing hair from my face._

"_If you were dead, more qualified people than me would avenge your death." I don't sound as brave as I'd like. Death and absence are not easy subjects for me._

"_You are going to be just as qualified one day soon." He seems awfully confident when he says that, and it's contagious._

_As I clear away the blood, the shape of the cut starts to appear. "It's rounded but precise. This bit here is deeper. It's like the point of something. There appears to be a bit missing. Did it fall on you from very far up?"_

"_Old house. Fell through a week spot in the ceiling. I should've proceeded with more caution. The house wasn't secure. It could have fallen in on any of us."_

"_How do you do that? Secure the scene, when it's dangerous, I mean?"_

_He glances over his shoulder for a second, his eyes bright with appreciation. "The smart thing to do is to wait for a building inspector or a mine expert or whoever can access the scene. Sometimes you dash in and take as many pictures as you can if you think the scene might not hold up."_

_Dried blood releases easily from his skin. The muscles in his neck relax. _

"_I have a thing about kids. It makes me...reckless. I can't wait on anyone if it's a kid. I have a thing about people that hurt kids."_

_I've figured as much already. Still, it's nice that he's telling me. "I guess everyone has something."_

"_Yeah." How do I tell him what my thing is?_

Gil

I haven't been home in days. The Debbie Marlin case has me...spooked? No, that's not the word. I am beyond spooked. Spooked gives one the idea of wispy smoke curling about like a ghost. Spooked is more like a shudder; this feeling is an earthquake. I'm downright scared. A man obsessed, one who has crossed the line from safe affection or even raw love, is...dangerous.

Women think that men don't' feel as much, or as deeply, as they do. But in my experience, that is not even close to the truth. Men, especially men like myself, who keep their own counsel, often feel too much; think too much. The cycles of emotion get caught up in our brain and won't let go until some other action requires it.

Actions can never be undone.

So, how does that affect my Sara? Or more importantly, Sara and I? I don't know. I can only think that my need for control has something to do with it. I really don't know. I could work it out if I wanted, but I'm not ready for that just yet.

I think…I might…love her. Yet another bit of insight that I'm not sure what to do with.

Screwing Sara.

Making love to Sara.

Fucking Sara.

I do all three.

All are immensely satisfying. But there is still a small hollow place that will probably never be fulfilled. This is probably as good as it gets for me. And that's pretty damn terrific. I seem to have quieted the howling wolves in my brain - and my body-for the most part.

She lets me...do what I want-mostly. I don't push the issue of my restrictions. Restrictions? There's only one thing she hasn't agreed to. Not that I've pushed the subject. She made her pronouncement the first time we got together and I've never revisited the issue. It won't fill the hollow place. Only a warped corner of my brain would even suggest it. Sara needs to keep some part of her to herself. God love her for having the sense to do that.

After the first three rounds of HIV tests, she trusts me enough to tell her if I sleep with anyone else. She's right. I'll never lie to her. Her safety, even from me, is preeminent in my mind and my heart

She's staring at me now, looking up from the textbook she's been judiciously studying for over three hours.

"I'm hungry." She yawns and closes the book, closes her eyes and rests her head on the back of the couch.

"Me too," I say. I was hungry two hours ago, but I didn't want to disturb her studying. "What's say we go to Sun Moon over by my place?"

Her brow furrows a bit and slim fingers twist a lock of hair. "Why all the way over there? Can't we just order in? I still have a ton of stuff to do."

Sara Sidle has found a subject she cannot conquer, Anatomy and Physiology.

"Well, we can pick it up."

She groans and rests her hands on the little place she calls her beer belly. "It'll still take too much time; driving all the way over there and all the way back. If you want Chinese, why not go to Mr. Fung's"

"Well..." She's studying me like an experiment now. "I need to get some stuff done at my house. I was thinking we could spend the night there. I've been awfully neglectful of some billing I need to do and I have two experiments that have probably gone to seed over the last week."

Her eyelids meet; one, two, three times. She still hasn't said anything.

I give her a pinched grin. She doesn't return it. Instead, she stands and rakes me with another curious look. She turns away, heading to the bedroom.

"Alright… Let me get my things."

I look around the small room after she's gone, studying every detail. I have a strange feeling we won't be coming back for a very long time-if ever


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N Little linkage if you are reading this on LJ. I love names and meaning and proper names and all that jazz. More linkage to come in the next chapters.**

**Michelle and Jennifer are the best. They keep me honest. Okay as honest as I'm going to get be.**

**Enjoy.**

Gil

She's sleeping in my bed. My Sara in my bed. How I want to roar.

Her sweet face is pressed into my chest, the sheets kicked off of her slim body. Her bare breasts catch the hint of dawn that slips through my bedroom window.

She's gained weight. Thank God. She's starting to look like a grown woman. She has hips and her bottom bounces a little now. She even has a tiny bit of cellulite on her right thigh. She was very proud to show that off when she was standing there without any clothes on I was harder than I have ever been before. One can only delude oneself for so long. I told myself that I didn't want to sleep with her. I continued telling myself that up until she told me I could do just about anything I wanted to.

She's beautiful. She doesn't think so and I don't know if I want her to know it. Once a woman realizes that she's beautiful, she starts trading up. The little money and encouragement I give her could be gotten from any man who has eyes and goes to work everyday. As it stands, she has no ideas what she's worth. One day she will, and this guy will be history.

She would never admit it, but she was practically a virgin the first time we slept together. She was far too tight for any woman that was getting it on a regular basis. And she's only had one boyfriend: Manny. I hope never to lay eyes on the man. I refuse to contemplate why that notion troubles me so. The very thought of him moving inside of her does not play out peacefully in my brain.

I didn't set off fireworks immediately for Sara. I hope, though I can't really know, that I aroused her and moved her to a level of satisfaction that she'd never known before.

_I held her face into place with my hands. "Look at me."_

_She blinked once, twice. I can feel hard nipples pressed into my chest._

"_How many people have you been with?" It was not a question I really wanted answered, but one I needed answered._

"_One."_

"_How long ago?" I didn't really want to know that answered, either._

"_What do you want me to do?" Her face filled with panic. "Please don't be mad, Gil. Please. I promise I'll do better. Just tell me what I'm doing wrong, I'll fix it?" She said and looked as if she was going to cry, her bottom lip pressing into a thin line of fright.. "What do you want me to do?" She was breathless as she pressed her body into mine. "I'll do it."_

"_You aren't doing anything wrong. I just didn't expect that you'd be so- tight and I don't want to hurt you."_

"_It won't hurt." She said too quickly, as she tried moving against me._

"_Like you'd know." I buried my face in her hair, the clean scent blending into the smell of promised sex._

"_Ssh," I said softly. "We'll do this together."_

_I thought about backing out of it again. I pushed the thought away. Because if nothing else, I want to provide her with a decent sexual experience. How very noble of me. _

_Demosthenes said, "Nothing is easier than self deceit, for what a man wishes, so he believes."_

"_Relax,sweet. Just relax." _

Observation

_He started over by dismissing their previous foreplay as inadequate for the night ahead. Sara needed more from him. Even if she didn't know it. He began by lifting himself away from her. _

_He studied her pale nude body. _

_She was perfect-for him._

_He kissed her-completely. _

_His first order of business was her hair, stroking it lightly as he pressed his lips into her delicate, pear scented scalp. He murmured promises that he'd never made to anyone and wasn't entirely sure he could keep. Next came an intense series of pecks on her sweat peppered forehead. Eventually, he made his way to the apples of her cheeks and freckles of her nose. He took his time with her mouth, prying it open with the tip of his tongue, exploring every bit of enamel and bud as she sighed with pleasure._

_When she started to go limp with some unknown emotion, he released her mouth and turned his attention to one surprisingly pale nipple. _

_It was his turn to sigh._

_Her body was an unexpected instrument of pleasure. He'd known that he would enjoy it. Her body. It was tentative, always trying to reign in the passion that lay just below the surface. It wasn't anything he expected or yearned for really, but it was turning out to be everything he never knew he needed. Her restraint matched his fear perfectly. Though he couldn't have known it then, their unrestrained love and the passion it bred would also match, one day._

_She bucked, just a bit, buried graceful hands in his longish curls and gave her first audible response. _

"_Shit."_

"_Tastes like honey," he murmured against her as strong thin legs wound round his waist. " I want to taste you every where. I will taste every succulent inch of you."_

"_Gah..."she urged him on._

_The laugh that came from him was one of pure joy. It both calmed and frightened her._

"_You're perfect, honey. Absolutely perfect. See how your breasts fill my hands perfectly. I dreamed of touching you for so..." looked up, pleased to see her mouth already starting to swell with the roughness of his kisses. _

_His left hand released the breast and found the soft nest of curls that were wet with her arousal. The heady smell of sex was wafting between them now, nearly driving him mad. _

"_Dreamed about having you under me," he whispered as he stroked the soft folds of flesh._

"_Me too," Sara surprised him with a squeak. "I wanted you to..._

_Amusement and curiosity filled his voice as he peered up at her. _

"_You wanted me to what?" He couldn't keep himself from asking the question. He needed to know that she wanted him too. That she'd dreamed about him._

_She didn't speak at first. Instead she molded herself eagerly into him. "Don't stop."_

_But he did stop, because he wanted her to answer him. "Tell me, sweet. What did you want me to do?"_

_Her face was red with embarrassment and arousal. She opened her eyes tentatively, glared at him for an instant and then closed them again. _

"_Please," she hissed._

"_Tell me," came his voice in a sing song taunt. _

"_I wanted you to-you know-do this," came her fitful response._

"_You want me to what? To stroke you? To touch you there? Tell me." His thumb flitted across the hard nub of her clit, driving home the point._

_Impatiently Sara began to move her body around his still hand. "Uh Huh," she whispered licking the top of his shoulder lightly. _

"_And?" He prompted her, enjoying the feel of her tongue on his body; pleased that some of her shyness had retreated._

"_Please…" she whimpered. "This feels soooooo good. You can't just -stop. That's-evil."_

"_It would feel better if I were working with you. Don't you think?" He took his hand completely away from her warmness then, resting it lightly on her thigh._

_Seeing no other way, Sara gave a husky answer. "I wanted you to fuck me, to make love to me. I wanted you."_

_A growl hovered on his lips. He shook it off and directed his fingers back to the apex of her body._

_She'd never felt like this before. Never thought anyone could feel like this. Her limited experience had taught her that women faked it and men probably didn't care. Even when they cared about you it was either them getting off or you getting off. But she was...on fire. And Gil, it seemed to her, was enjoying himself immensely._

_Like in a romance novel she he was that ridiculous heroin that talked about loins and urges. He'd touched and stroked her and created fireworks behind her eyelids that beckoned her into a world she'd not thought possible. _

_Shaking off the cloak of self protection that was not only her second nature, but her only nature she focused on the moment and the man. Slowly, she dragged her hands up his back, across his slick shoulders, until she had secured both sides of his of his bearded face in her soft palms. _

"_I wanted you," she said with a brutal affirmation as he settled himself between her legs. _

_Sighing, she took her one hand from his face and placed it on his erection. With her urging, he started to slip inside her, one millimeter at a time._

"_You have me."_

Sara

I wake with the covers tucked around my waist and the familiar smells of breakfast coming from Gil's kitchen. It's Sunday. A day of rest. But there's no rest for me today. I've got a ton of reading to catch up on for A&P. It's junior college for goodness sake not grad school. But Dr. Wilson seems intent on focusing all of her considerable powers of concentration on me.

"Miz Sidle. I know you are a wunderkind, but this subject seems to be offering you challenges. Might I suggest some additional reading and less time spent… What is it you young people call it? Hanging out?"

I wanted to tell her that I don't hang out; that I have a man, two jobs and three other classes. But you just don't tell Dr. Theodora Wilson anything. So, I just nodded, smiled and took the reading list she proffered.

Kelly laughs at me. She's an anatomy whiz. Good thing, 'cause she's got her sights set on medical school some day. I am sure her patients will be happy to know that she's known where the kidney is since she was eight.

Speaking of Kelly, I need to check my email. She's sending me some three dimensional models that she made for "fun." I mean who does that? Of course now would be the time that Gil would say something smart alecky about buying old textbooks from the Salvation Army and reading them for "fun." That's totally different.

My eye catches sight of some folded fabric on Gil's side of the bed. It's pink. I don't do pink. As I unfold what turns out to be two garments, I reconsider the pink. They are very subtle with white piping alone the seems. They aren't slinky or ridiculous. They are just pretty pajamas. A slip of paper falls to the bed.

"If you going to be a grind at least you can do so in style. Breakfast is served."

Sweet!

I quickly put on the pajamas. They are very soft and feel like that perfect place between brand new and time to throw them out.

As I walk out into the common area I call out to Gil. "Thanks for the PJs"

I stop cold the second a short, dark haired man comes into view. He's sitting at the kitchen table eating an omelet, hash browns, sausage, and toast.

Sitting before me is what I can only assume is Gil's friend, Jim.

"Hello," I say, trying to sound relaxed. I don't think Jim knows about me. I take a quick look around the otherwise empty kitchen.

The detective stands, wipes his mouth and extends a gentle looking hand. "Good morning. I'm Jim."

"Sara," I offer my own hand. He gives it a quick touch and returns to his seat. "I didn't realize the breakfast company was going to be so attractive. No wonder Gil was trying to hustle me out of here-"

He stops mid sentence and stares at me for several, long, uncomfortable seconds. "I know you..."

He's right. He does know me. Shit! How does Gil's cop friend know me? I've never been arrested, just those two close calls. I study the man in front of me, putting my bartender's memory to work.

Kind eyes, tough mouth, deliberate cadence, efficient movement, East coast accent, well cut slacks and polo fitting perfectly on his small frame. Shit! It's Ellie's dad.

As if he's reading my mind he snaps his fingers. "Your hair was pink and you had a gray backpack."

Just then Gil appears from somewhere. "Who's got pink hair?"

Relief floods through me. Thank the universe for reasonable explanations. "I did-for about a week. I lost a bet to some of the kids I was tutoring. Who knew they'd all actually make As?

Gil shrugs and I'm relieved that he doesn't look worried, concerned, or in the worst case, pissed. He does look at me thoughtfully. "I think I might like you with pink hair. Sit."

I do.

Around the tiny round table, plates and hands nudge against one another as we eat.

"So, how do you two know one another," Gil asks, working hard at being casual. I think he might be feeling left out, or like I didn't tell him something important. _Oh Gil. There's so much to tell._

"She tried to help Ellie detox once," Brass offers, trying to sound just as casual.

Observation

As they headed away towards Dancing Bear Golf Course, Brass watched Grissom out of the corner of his eye. He looked relaxed; too relaxed. Usually Gil was a much better poker player.

"You wanna know about the Ellie thing?" Brass wanted to know as Gil's hands turned glossy with tension.

"Sara'll tell me, if she wants me to know."

Brass nodded. "Right..."

They were silent for several miles as the scenery changed from single family bungalows and town homes to multi-level McMansions and finally ending in a bare landscape dotted with the occasional ranch house. For the first time maybe, Grissom saw the practical beauty of the large, cookie-cutter neighborhoods and the happy families that had found shelter there. Lately he'd been thinking of the escalating crime statistics in his own neighborhood weighing it against the excellent schools. He'd been thinking he didn't need the Tahoe and the Lexus. Or maybe he did. Maybe Sara didn't need her car. The Toyota was okay for the quick jaunts from Sara's apartment to the club or school. The trek wasn't terribly far away from his house. But it would make him feel better if she were driving a better car.

He'd been thinking it was time to at least have the beginning of the talk. He'd been thinking it was time to grow up, maybe settle down. He'd been thinking that maybe he wasn't completely hopeless after all. He'd been thinking that for the first time in a long while he didn't have any awful truths to tell the woman in his life. That he didn't have to wear his honesty with glaring virtue. He'd not been to another woman's bed, nor had he been tempted, since that first night with Sara.

Could you really turn it around like that? So easily?

When Brass could take it no longer, he began to speak again. "She helped out at this shelter Ellie landed at. You might know it. Agape over by St. Peter's."

Gil gave a muted head nod.

Brass continued. "I got the impression she lived there at some point. She was very kind to Ellie when that wasn't an easy thing."

Another mile passed and the entrance of the golf course appeared. As Grissom made a smooth turn into the course he breathed a hardly audible, "Thank you," as he turned shut off the engine.

"No problem," Brass replied not moving from the seat. "Gil, you do know Agape mostly deals with survivors of domestic abuse? Ellie was only there 'cause she'd burned her bridges everywhere else. "

"I know she hasn't had an easy life." Blue eyes searched the landscape for something it wouldn't find.

"You know what happened?" Brass turned to look out his own window.

"No… but she's got a scar…I figure she'll tell me when she's ready." His voice sounded far, off but less worried.

"Yeah…that's probably best." Brass shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I know a little bit about horse flesh, partner, and you two are good together. Shouldn't be, but you are."

"Yeah… I know," Grissom mumbled as a bit of guilt settled between them.

"She's a good kid, ya know…" Brass turned and silently tried to force his friend to meet his gaze. "This isn't one of your-things? Right?"

Sighing, Grissom's dark curls met the seat rest as he leaned back. Slowly he shook his head from one side to the other, crossing muscled forearms around his waist as he did so. "No… It's not one of my things… I think it's THE thing."

The hair on the back of Brass' hand stood at attention. A wave of something protective shot through him. "She's young Griss. I mean, she might look tough-hell, she probably IS tough. But she's still very...young."

"Sara can take care of herself." Grissom finally said tapping a rhythm out on his thigh.

TBC


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews and support. I am trying to stay with my weekly posting but next week might be a little tough. I'll do my very best. If you reading this on LJ there is linkage to Sara's dress. If you aren't it's the dress that Angelina Jolie wore to the Mr. And Mrs. Smith premier. **

**Cookies to Jennifer and Michelle. **

Sara

The breakfast with Jim went very well considering it was the first time I actually met any of Gil's friends. Of course the mood was more settled by the fact that Jim kind of knew me and already had a pretty good opinion of me.

Jim's a very nice man, but he still got Ellie as a kid. Doesn't seem fair. He got Ellie and I got Cain Sidle. Seems like the universe should have flipped that around and put us together. What's that saying? _Mine is not to reason why._ Sister Mary used to tell us that everything happened for a reason. I don't entirely believe that and I doubt Sister Mary did either. Still, you need something to hold on to when nothing makes sense.

That reminds me, I haven't been to Mass in weeks. Gil said he and Jim probably would be gone until late. St. Peter's is only two blocks from here, so I think I can squeeze in noon Mass.

I should probably tell Gil about my church thing. He'd probably think it was weird. Face it, it is weird. My mom calls herself a natural spiritualist, and that's cool-for her. Me, I need a little more structure. When to stand, when to kneel, that exact line for right and wrong. Even if I spent most of my life on the wrong side, at least I have a boundary. I'm not really Catholic. I mean, I haven't done the whole conversion thing. I was about to-until I met Gil.

I wonder if God is mad at me about the Gil thing? I don't think so. At least, I hope not. Maybe I'll get a sign. Maybe I already have a sign. Gil is very good to me and I try to do the same by him.

We haven't had a fight-yet. There's one brewing, I'm sure. He's used to women falling all over him, swooning and such. And well, that's just not me. I think he needs...assurances. But I don't know what else to do. I'm here, right?

I'm going to have to tell him something, because Sister Mary has been looking for me. I sent her a text message last night telling her I was okay. Her reply was that she needed to see my face and THAT man's face. The woman must have God on speed dial, I tell you.

I don't know what I am going to tell Gil. "Hey babe, your religious, almost Catholic mistress and the nun that's looked out for her since she first ended up homeless, because her brother was long gone and her mom had killed her dad, would like to have lunch with you. How's Friday? Margo's usually has a lovely fish on Friday."

This is the guys' day out, apparently. Golf. Beer. Dinner with some pals from work and more beer. That leaves me here alone for hours, which is fine 'cause I do have things to do. Gil said I could Kelly and have her come over. He knows this A&P thing is worrying the shit out of me. Kelly is probably the only way I can even pull a "B" from this class. He thinks it's funny that I might make a "C" in a class. I told him it was soooooo not funny. When I asked him if he'd ever made a "C" he told me he had, but he didn't volunteer which class.

I resisted the urge to snoop for about three minutes. Who was I kidding? I needed to get a look at what's her face. Yeah I know about her: Alana Marino.

I'd seen a picture of her and Gil before we got together, in the newspaper. They were at the season opening of the ballet. I remember thinking she was very pretty, but that's about it.

I carefully rifled through the papers on his desk. He does charge people a crap load of money. I'm so getting those Cole Haun's. Then I did a quick sweep of his closet, which yielded a gold hinged, mahogany box. It looks like an antique, but what do I know?

There are pictures from two vacations, one somewhere in Europe. One shows her wearing a tiny red bikini. She's at least a decade older than me and my breasts never looked like that. It makes me feel better to believe they aren't real, even if they are. She doesn't have a beer belly either. Just one of those ridiculously flat stomachs that I've never had. . In one picture she's bundled up in a long fur coat, standing in front of what looks to be the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, with her arm around Gil. He isn't looking at the camera, but at her. Maybe they weren't really in Paris. Maybe they were just in Vegas, at the fake Eiffel tower. Self delusion is sometimes self preservation.

There's some more stuff, cards and a few letters (that I can't bring myself to read) that she sent while she was doing work in England. She does something with art. It's clear from the letters and pictures that Gil was very, very serious about this woman. Like almost married her serious. They were together for two years and lived together for a time.

Gil's only mentioned her twice. Once when I complimented him on a pair of silver cuff links he was wearing. _"My ex girlfriend Alana gave them to me."_

The other time was when I stupidly asked him if he'd ever been in love. I have no idea why I asked that, but it was certainly information I didn't need.

"_I loved Alana very much." _

"_What happened?"_

"_Some people shouldn't be together."_

I had just learned about the thermite reaction in class that week, and was about to make a joke about it. But he looked all wounded and hurt, so I decided better of it.

I'll bet Alana has parents that went to college and siblings that she can actually call up on the phone. I'll bet her passport is stamped with so many countries she's got to get a new one. This woman, this Sophia Loren lookalike that stares back at me, is the kind of woman men like Gil fall in love with. I can't muster any significant jealousy 'cause it makes so much sense; Gil and this woman. Of course he loved her, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

He's taking me to the season opening of the ballet I picked out a black leather dress on my own without Marge. Until I saw these pictures it seemed like a good choice. It's buttersoft and fits me like a second skin. I thought it was young, hip and just this side of movie star elegant. Exactly what I needed to make my debut on Gil's arm. Now I wonder if my dress is...skanky. I don't want to embarrass Gil. I never, ever want to do that. I want him to be proud of me-always. I'll ask Kelly when she comes over.

I put the pictures back. I put the box back in the closet and got up to call Kelly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kelly is crying. What the fuck?

"Do I look that bad? Do you think I've got time to find something else?"

She shakes her beautiful blond head and wipes her pert nose. "No! You just look so great. My mom would have loved you. She would have taken us to lunch and let you borrow her jewelry and she would have just thought you were the greatest. She would have called you edgy. Mom loved edgy."

This is the first time Kelly has ever really talked about her mother.

Kelly is blond and fluffy and she wears pink a lot. Her dad is a CEO of some internet company that went public about six years ago. He made a bunch of money and it's just him and Kelly, now. Her mom died of breast cancer when she was 16. I think maybe that's why she wears pink all the time, but I don't know for sure.

She ended up SVJC on account of her bulimia. She started the throwing up right after her mom died. Her aunt came to stay for a few weeks and kept telling her she was fat. When her dad found out what was going on, he threw the aunt out. But by then it was too late. Kelly had already lost 15 pounds and was spiraling out of control.

She showed up at the learning center three weeks after school started, begging Dare, the Indian guy that works there, to help her with calculus. And then, right out of the blue, she announced that I was going to be her friend.

At first I thought she was looking for help with her classes. But Kelly's pretty smart. It doesn't come naturally like it does with me or Gil. But she's a hard worker who has a natural curiosity about everything. That worries me a little because, well, that's going to lead to questions about my parents.

But here she is crying, saying how much her mother would love me. I don't know what to do, exactly. So, I sit next to her on the couch and pat her shoulders, which seems to make her cry harder. I don't know if that's necessarily bad.

People need to mourn. Sometimes you mourn actual people like Kelly is doing. And sometimes you need to mourn a particular period of your life and all the hopes and dreams you had. I would never say this to Kelly, because really it's not something you say to people, but she's very lucky to have all these great memories of her mom; to have had a regular childhood.

She didn't have to hide under the bed or sit in the ER with her mom week after week because her dad beat the shit out of her. She had a good life with her mom. It might not have been a long life, but it was good.

She's sniffling now and staring at me very weirdly. "You are the first grown up girlfriend I've ever had."

"Well-thanks."

OOOOOOOOOO

Gil is standing in front of us before I can register that he's come through the back door.

"Where's your phone?" He says softly and I flip around and point to the counter.

He lets out a breath like he does when he's nervous. "It's off."

"Oh," I say.

He's eying Kelly, and I wonder if this is just a ruse to check her out. I have talked about her a lot and she is blonde and has those tits and all. She gives him a wave and he nods his head.

"A guy shot two people in the campus library." He pauses and gives a pointed look at Kelly. "Two white females."

"Oh!" I say, not daring to look him quite in the eye. Kelly's phone starts to ring. It's her dad. After a round of "I love yous" and "I'll be home early," she hangs up.

Gil hugs me close. His beard scratches my face and I giggle. "I'm okay. I'm bullet proof." I can't bring myself to look at him. I'm pretty sure I'm blushing.

After a few seconds the gentleman in him surfaces and he extends a hand to Kelly, his fingers still digging in my side.

"Gil Grissom."

"Kelly Goodman."

"I am going to get some work done," Gil says.

After the bedroom door closes, Kelly is full of whispers and laughter . "So, that's your old man? No wonder you're keeping him under wraps."

"Um, he's not exactly my old man. I mean we aren't married or anything."

"I saw him on CNN the other night." Kelly says like she just found out a terrific secret. "He's on that Court TV and he's the bug guy on 'Dr. Pam: Medical Examiner.'"

"Yeah." I work hard not to smile. "He's a pretty smart guy."

"You guys are going to have genius babies with crazy hair." She makes an air halo with her hands.

"You'll spend a ton on conditioner and private schools."

"We aren't going to have ANY babies."

Kelly just grins and reaches for her Coke.

TBC


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N I am not big on posting on Thursday night's but sometimes you have to do what you have to do. Yes I know this chapter is kind of eh. Consider it a necessary evil for moving the story along. Sorry for the untimiley updates. I had every intention of continuing to update while I was away but British Airways forced me to check my laptop after I'd had it with me for nine hours the bag became too big in London. Anywho they lost my laptop and I could not post. Thanks for sticking with me. Hopefully I'm back on schedule with my weekly updates.**

**Enjoy.**

Sara

He looks tired. Like he does when he's been at work more than 14 hours.

"Hey," I say from the doorway as he pulls a clean t-shirt over his head. The smell of Zest sandalwood hits my nostrils, then recedes as he pulls back the dark blue comforter on the king sized bed. He tried to wash off the cigar smoke, but I can still smell it.

"Hey yourself," He gives me a sleepy grin.

"Too much partying with the fellas?" He didn't get all his partying in because of the gun scare. I feel guilty about that. He works so hard. He cut short his big night out because I didn't have the stupid cell phone on.

"Maybe." He shrugs suppressing yawn. "I think I need to follow my own advice and turn down some work. I have some irrational fear that if I say no one too many times, the work will dry up."

"It won't," I say moving across the room and sitting next to him on the bed. "How many other guys do what you do?"

"There are four entomologists in the country and ten the world with my my skill set." I like it when he gets all scholarly. Skill set. Heh.

I move to the bathroom, brush my teeth, do the mouthwash routine, wash my face with cleanser. When I pad back to the bedroom, Gil is on his back, bare–chested, eyes closed. I slide underneath the crisp sheets and don't even think about what I say next, it just comes out.

"Do you think Kelly is pretty?"

"I think you're pretty," he says a little too sweetly. I should say something. Like thank you or something. I just kiss his neck and rub his beard against my cheek, absorbing the man smells I've become so used to.

"She's very pretty," I repeat. "You don't have to confirm."

Lips meet the top of my head. "If you like that sort."

"Beautiful blond, rich, perky, C cup, tiny waist, size 6 shoe."

Rumbling laughter just bubbles under the sheets. "Yeah, that type. She's very….swimsuit modelish."

My hands are cold and I've got no idea why. I refrain from running them under his shirt. He's probably tired. God knows I am, but I need to feel him close-closer than he is right now.

"Her mother used to tell her that she looked like a World War 2 pin up girl."

Gil shifts and runs his fingers along my back, finally resting his hand on my lower back where I pulled a muscle during yoga class a few weeks ago. "Nice reference. Yeah, a girl like Kelly is nice to have in your locker or in books. But it's not what I like in real life."

Dumb me, somehow this conversation has turned into something about Alana. The rumble in his chest returns only this time it's not laughter. I peek at his face. His eyes are closed and his breathing is soft, moving the little hairs in his mustache.

"I like long legs, gaps, hair that won't behave, big feet and a girl that can burp with the best of them."

I push away the irrational thought that crying is for wimps. Instead I continue to rest my nose in the crook of his neck. It's warm there. He's always so warm. Quickly, without me even feeling it at first he brushes away two or three tears that have escaped from my eyes.

I hazard another look into his eyes. They are bright, the sleepiness is gone. He looks more than gentle. Men really look at women like that? Like some Lifetime movie?

Maybe...

There's been this nagging in my heart for days, okay weeks. I'm not just a piece of ass to him anymore. He wants me with him all the time. He talks to me and he really listens to what I have to say. He asks for my advice. He doesn't know where his socks are anymore. I have no idea what to do about all this information, but its clear where we are heading-no we're almost there.

Every day since we started, I asked myself what would I do if he leaves today, if he never calls again. For awhile, the answer was-nothing. Twenty three days ago the answer was cry and suck it up. Now? Now I would beg him not to to go. To let me stay. I don't want to be that woman but I am that woman. His woman.

He presses his cheek into mine and whispers into my ear.

"You don't have to tell me now, but when you're ready I want you to tell me about your family."

I can do that for him, for us.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sara,

I don't want you to go through your life afraid. Afraid of loving someone or afraid of believing in the possibilities that life offers because of my mistakes. I hear what you are saying about this man and my head says be careful. However, the more you speak of him, my heart says he sounds like he might be worth the gamble. Of course I want you to be careful, but I don't want you to be too careful.

I could have left you two legacies. One would have made you prey to the same kind of man I found myself prey too. You have taken or perhaps given the other -- fear of any significant intimacy. I guess that is the lesser of two evils.

Is is possible to be careful and to be bold?

Perhaps it's time to tell him everything. At the very least, you should tell him something. I can't imagine what he thinks about the scar. It must be an awful scar.

I suppose now would be the time to tell you. Your brother managed to track me down and has been writing me almost as frequently as you have. He wants your address. I told him I would ask you.

The rest of the letter is regular mom stuff. Don't sleep under the ceiling fan. Are you eating right? Are you regular? Why do they ask that? I mean, I'm a grown woman. If I am not regular what is she going to do about it? Why is that the mom barometer for health?

The letter is signed with a small drawing of me and my brother when we were kids.

Of course he can have the damn address. He saved my life, didn't he.

Gil

She blurts it out one Saturday morning when I'm plodding through the New York Times crossword. I will not read the questions aloud because its slightly emasculating to have your barely old enough to drink, freshmen in college lover answer the questions that you can't. She's drinking Earl Gray and nibbling on "biscuits," topping off a languid session of lovemaking and brunch in bed.

She giggles when she says biscuits and I want to kiss the trembling muscles in her neck.

As the last of the tea goes down, the words come out in what can only be described as a slow rush. Oxymoron I know, but that's the only way I can describe it.

"My mom's in jail and my dad's dead," she says evenly.

I panic not because of what she has told me, but because I'm very sure that shock registers on my face. Raised eyebrows and wide eyes never bode well for "tell me anything."

Luckily she's not looking at me. She's nibbling on another beige disc. This one has almonds and they seem to hold an unusual interest for her. After a full minute I realize that she wants me to say something.

"Are those two things related?" I don't know what else to say. Probably not the best question, but the investigator in me took over for a moment.

She nods and cuts her downcast eyes at my shoulder. "Yeah."

I can see from the veins in her neck and hands that she's holding it together by the thinnest of threads. "Do you...want to tell me more? Or is that all you are comfortable with?"

She answers the question by continuing to talk in low, halting sentences. "He was an asshole. He beat the shit out of her for years. Drank too much. I guess one night it was either her or him."

I nod. I want to touch her but now doesn't seem to be the time. "Did he ever hurt you?"

Brown hair and like colored eyes whip in my direction. I'm sure that foul language is imminent. Instead, her orbs turn kittenish and some of the tension leaves her face. "He smacked me sometimes. Couple times a year." The revelation sets my guts on fire. I want to hit someone. "He'd leave a bruise or something. But my brother protected me most of the time."

Brother? As a person with no siblings, it never occurred to me that Sara had one. "Where's your brother?" I asked reaching for the tips of her crumb covered fingers. She tenses up for several seconds and then relaxes. Our fingers touch lightly on the pine tray. My guts are on fire with revelations. How could anyone hurt this wonderful woman?

This time she finally lifts her head and I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. "Canada. I haven't talked to him since he left home."

"You talk to your mother." It's not really a question more of a rumination.

She runs a hand across her forehead as if she's broken out in a sweat. "Sometimes on the phone, but mostly we write."

I move a centimeter in her direction and my fingers cover her nails. "How often?"

"Around once a week."

"You're close." There's something reassuring in that, though I don't know what it is because her mother did kill someone.

She's watching me now to make sure this meets my approval. If it doesn't, I sense she'll bolt. NO man will ever come between her and her mother-again. There is some of kinship in this revelation. I'm very close to my mother, too, and I rarely hear her voice.

"I could teach you some sign language so you could say dirty things about the guards when you visit."

She does that snort thing and cackles for a bit. "I'll tell her you said it, but she won't let me see her "in there"."

"Makes sense."

"Does it?" she's says, the corners of her mouth turning down

"She doesn't want you to see her like that. I wouldn't want my kid to see me like that."

"Yeah, well..."

It's all she'll say for now. It's more than a start.

OOOOOOOOOO

We doze for an hour. Or maybe its two. Emotions have worn me out. I am jostled awake by the absence of Sara. I open my eyes to find Sara's thin, well muscled back pulling on a white pull over.

"Where you going?" I mumble. Startled, she turns to me and gives an odd sort of peaceful look that turns up the corners of her eyes. "I'm just going down the street."

"To?" I prompt. Lifting my upper body onto my elbows as she tucks her shirt into crisp khakis.

"Church," she breaths leaning over and touching my lips to hers.

"Which one?" I'm sitting completely up now. There are four churches in my neighborhood, one Catholic three protestant.

"St. Peter's," she slips on loafers and moves to the dresser to check her appearance. Noon sunlight dances and highlights the reddish freckles on the apples of her cheeks.

Shaking off the remnants of sleep, I stare at her back and find myself smiling. "Okay..."

Her eyes find mine and I know it has never occurred to her that this is actually MY church. She's never really talked about God. She believes I know she prays.

Something must register on my face because she stops moving for an instant. "You go to church?"

"Not as much as I should, but enough so they know me."

"Oh. I thought you were like, mad at the Church. I mean you said about the priest scandal and everything."

"Not mad. Disappointed. I was also disappointed that my Uncle Sal has a gambling problem, but it didn't stop me from calling him."

"Not the same thing," she shoots back, resting her hips on the dresser and crossing her arms.

She's right. "You're right. I guess I should say I never stopped loving him."

"So you're still Catholic?"

"Unless something happened that I don't know about," I reach for my watch and swing my legs from our bed.

"Where are you going?" she asks suspiciously turning back towards the dresser.

"To church."

Observation-Sara

An hour and half later, after Sara and Grissom had knelt and risen and crossed themselves. After they'd been reminded of forgiveness love,contrition, faith and hope, It was then, with Sara, feeling clean and free and Grissom, feeling content and accomplished, that Grissom steered Sara towards the tall, lithe, onyx man wearing vestments who was speaking with a middle aged couple.

After the couple had gone, Peter Ado took Grissom's hands and kissed both his cheeks while he held his shoulders in a gentle vice. "Gilbert. It is good to see you. And who is this?"

The priest turned black eyes towards Sara.

Gil lightly touched Sara's elbow and moved closer to her. "Sara, meet Peter Ado. Peter is my parish priest, good friend and considerable pain in my backside."

"Guilty as charged." The man thundered softly with an accent Sara could not place. She thought probably it was a mixture of British English and West African.

"It is wonderful to have you with us, Sara. How long will you be with us?"

Uncomfortable with all the attention on her, Sara blushed and shrugged. "I don't know. I usually got to Christ the King over on MLK."

Father Ado rocked back on his heels and clapped his hands. "Ah, yes. My dear friend, Sister Marion, does a great deal of work in the area. You know her?"

Sara nodded. "She's a good friend of mind, too." Gil's face registered. The other man continued to speak. "I shall tell her that I met a lovely Sara with a wonderful smile who appears to have my dear friend on the path of righteousness - or at least attending mass. With this one, I shall take what I can get and let God do the rest. Now." The hands met again. The sound thunders through the small church. "I am making a chicken stew. I have a lovely vintage, that Gil's mother sent me, breathing and I am a lonely man with no one to share my dinner with. What a joy it would be to have two interesting, gorgeous young people to share a meal with."

TBC


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N Thanks to Michelle and Jennifer for keeping me at least reasonably honest. **

**Sara**

Our family didn't start out fucked up. I mean, we started out regular, hardworking people. I don't know if it was one thing that changed. Or maybe my mom was shielding us from the ugliness. Anyway, the last good birthday I had was when I turned six. In a word, it was excellent. I didn't have a fancy party. My folks couldn't afford that. What I did have was pizza from Mr. Piers and a homemade chocolate cake. My mother makes the best chocolate cakes. They are fudgy and heavy and have two kinds of frosting. White chocolate for the roses and milk chocolate for the rest. My name was spelled out, albeit shakily in pinkish purple.

Happy Birthday to Sara. We love you. Actually it said we heart you but same thing.

My dad got me a second hand bike from Mike's Pawn and Gun. He shined it up nicely for me and it even had streamers coming from the handles. My brother had saved his allowance money and bought me a horn that had a siren setting. My mom loved it because it was unreasonably loud and she could always tell where I was in the neighborhood. Dad said I sounded like a mini cop.

I loved that bike. Loved racing through the streets, the wind from the lake whipping through my hair and snapping at my ears. We had to pawn it back the next year.

My brother was and probably still is one of the best human beings I'll ever know. He was kind and generous; filled with good intentions and hope for the world in general. Even after all our bullshit, he never gave up faith.

Dad was always a drinker and sometimes he got snippy. It was nothing like the nastiness that came later. It was an old story. The plant closed down. Most of the town followed. Some people moved away. Some wives found jobs in the few offices that were left or cleaning for the rich people that had "weekend" houses on the lake.

My dad drank and wallowed and pushed us farther down the hole.

Mom, tried to do her best by selling her remedies (unfortunately, she gave away more than she sold) and babysitting for the weekend people. She just didn't have any other skills. She never thought she needed anything else. She married her high school sweetheart, she had babies and she kept house. It was the life of my grandmother and her friends.

It would've been a good life, too. Hell, it was a good life.

When the bottom fell out, Mom didn't have any usable skills and Dad blamed her for getting pregnant right before they graduated. He always complained that she had trapped him. The first time he said that, Mom laughed, "First I've heard of that in ten years."

That was the first time he slapped her. The next week he broke one of her fingers. In between, he threw potshots at me and my brother. My brother was-is a wall of a human being. He'd jumped over my parent's slim, sinewy genes and pulled from our sturdy Russian peasant stalk. David Sidle was a big kid. He was tall and wide and was too heavy to carry past his second birthday.

The other kids were scared of him-for a time. The thing was that my brother was unreasonably gentle and achingly kind. He was also a hard worker who would do just about anything to keep the lights on.

That really pissed my dad off. Well, that and the fact that my brother had his head stuck in some book on war strategy most of the time.

"What kind of weirdo kid doesn't want to play sports with that body?"

Davie's mind changed when Mr. Johnson, his gym teacher, encouraged him to join the football team.

"If you keep your grades up, with that and the football, you could easily get a scholarship."

Those were magic words for Davie. He wanted to get out very, very badly. I hadn't gotten that far yet. Me, I just wanted more than 24 hours of peace and quiet.

My father wasn't too fond of me, either. He liked to call me my mother's clone and said I was cute enough, but too smart for my own damn good.

My mother made it clear that protecting me was my brother's first priority. Davie did that well, until he finished his senior year in high school. He was the Jaguar team captain. Oh sure, he was a solid player; a good player, but more than that he was smart and dependable. Davie led them to the state championships.

He got that scholarship to a mid sized state school four states over. It wasn't the only one he got, but it was the one that would take him farthest away. Mom had insisted.

The day Davie graduated (magna cum laud), Mom pressed 300 dollars in his hand and told him not to come home and not to call. He gave me a desperate hug, kissed mom on both cheeks and then he was dust. We all knew why she made him leave early for school. If he stayed much longer, someone would end up dead.

And it would not be Davie.

Mom told him not to contact us. It would only make things worse.

He didn't.

I never went back to school after that summer. Mom was always very sorry about that. It was my birthday. All she could manage was a store bought cake that tasted like cardboard. We couldn't afford the ingredients for her special cake. The expense for "an ungrateful kid" angered my father and he hit me-harder than he ever had, a swift backhanded slap across my cheek and then a punch that nearly broke my nose.

I don't remember everything that happened. Probably could if I tried. All I know is that it ended with birthday cake on the floor and Cain Sidle dead. I can only assume that Mom cut me by accident in the mayhem. Maybe one day I'll work it out.

It wasn't as bad as it looked. Still, there was lots of blood and I had to get stitches. Early the next morning, I snuck out of the hospital and never looked back.

**Observation**

"I took my stitches out myself," Sara said shyly as Grissom traced the patterns that danced across her stomach.

"Of course you did," he said as he kissed one of the tattoo covered scars. "You did a fine job."

"Ya think?" Sara's hand fanned through his tangled curls. The white was quickly overtaking the dark. She approved.

"You can doctor on me anytime." He turned his face up, glad to see her eyes were vivid and clear.

"What do the tattoos mean?" Grissom asked carefully kissing her soft flesh again.

She tilted her head to the side and asked, "You haven't looked them up?"

"Thought about it," Grissom admitted.

"But..."

Sara was surprised to see his ears turn pink. "I wanted you to tell me."

"Come here" she whispered and held her arms open for him. He complied, enjoying the feel of their connected bodies as he slid up and into her arms.

"They're Japanese symbols for summer and winter. Everything changes. Our lives are constantly moving. Nothing is all bad. Nothing is all good."

Without much thought, but knowing it was completely the truth, he breathed the next words. "You're all good-for me."

**OOOOOOOOOO**

Gil waffled on how to start the letter. There were so many variables to consider. Finally he settled on the only evidence he had

Ms. Sidle,

My name is Gil Grissom. I'm not sure Sara has mentioned me or not, but I have heard many wonderful things about you from Sara...

TBC


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N Thanks to all they eyes, Michelle, Jennifer and Doris. This has been an interesting journey. I missed last week's deadline though I tried desperately to make it. I can honestly say that if I hadn't committed to this once a week posting I wouldn't have been where I am right now. I just plugged away and got through the tough part. Also some of my formatting and some of the corrections didn't make it the first time. I have attempted to fix that. My saved documents and ffnet are constantly at war. Please let me know if you see any errors.**

Sara pulled the gray backpack along the wet sidewalk muttering to herself. She vowed that she wouldn't glare at Mr. Hardy, the perv from across the street, who magically appeared every time she pulled into the driveway. No matter how much he deserved it, she figured the more attention she gave him the more he got off on it.

The garage door opener was still broken, and the only way it would open was if Gil performed some magic to make it actually lift long enough for Sara to pull the Lexus into its appointed space.

Today was the last straw, she was calling someone, whether he liked it or not. She didn't know who you called in these situations, but there was a phone book and the next day was Saturday. She knew that he would grumble and grouse and say, "I think I'm smart enough to fix a garage door opener."

The thing was, he hadn't fixed it, and now she was walking in a cool, damp, drizzle. It didn't help her mood that the walk was doing further assault to her hair, which had already risen in the heat of the daytime.

As she lifted the damp-bottomed bag up the porch steps, she gave a cheerful wave to Lola Martinez, a former school teacher l who now dealt called bingo three times a week at the Salvation Army.. She and her husband had raised three boys. She kept telling Sara to "give Gil some babies

"Hello darlin," she said a little too loudly, perhaps trying to compensate for the rain. "You give Gil a tongue wagging for me. This rain and you working and going to school The least he could do is get that door fixed." Her husband joined her on the rainy porch, pressing a cup of tea into her hand and wiping off a wicker chair before she sat down.

Sara turned, slipped her key into the lock, and gave a tired grin. "Will do."

The promise of food did not great her at the door and she found herself unreasonably pissed off. The least he could have done... Aw screw it. If Gil had been away from hearth and home for over 14 hours he'd expect a meal, a stiff drink and a blow job. And when he didn't get it, he'd have that one eyebrow thing going that she'd become so adept at ignoring.

Men.

The front hall was cool, but welcoming and she hoped they weren't going to have to have to work through some issues about the heat or putting a quilt on the bed because the cold was starting to descend on the desert.

The living room was dark. The kitchen was tidy, and barren. She tried not to be mad. She trudged barefoot into the bedroom considering how she would let him know that he'd been thoughtless, knowing that she'd probably chicken out.What was the point really?

What greeted her in the bedroom first pissed her off, then freaked her out. Finally, it turned her on.

There he was, naked, thick shaft in hand, hard as a rock. Was this what it had come to? He was just assuming the position now. Quickly she realized that he wasn't even aware she was in the room. The hardness bumping against his stomach was not for her enticement.

Gil Grissom was jacking off.

The faint smell of strawberries hung in the air and an unnatural sheen covered his hand and his cock. He was moving the hand, not slow or fast, but at a medium rhythm which suggested that he was neither beginning, nor ending.

His mouth was slack and he was murmuring something. With lightening speed, her neurons began to fire. Did he do this often? Who the hell was he thinking about? Was he dissatisfied with their sex life?

As the last question died a quick death, her own arousal began to tingle, stimulated by the fruity musk and the sight of his actions.

With catlike stealth, she crossed the room and lifted his hand from his shaft, quickly replacing it with her mouth. She had been right; the lube was strawberry. How dare he go sex shopping without her.

"Wha-..." his sky colored orbs opened wide, just as Sara's head began to bob slowly between his legs.

Feeling terribly naughty, Sara descended on him with vigor, laughing lightly as he fell back into the pillows.

"Sara," he groaned softly, the sound bouncing off the paneled walls. "You..." he struggled and then gave up. Her warm cheek came into contact with the standing hairs of his thigh

With delicious nervousness fluttering through her stomach, she took one long pull on his shaft, savoring the saline taste of skin and sex.

Before Grissom, there weren't many blowjobs. Just a few with the ex-boyfriend and those had been furtive, desperate moments stolen in the shelter where they both lived. All she ever really did was open her mouth and close it around Manny and bam it was done. No expertise was required.

The first time she'd gone down on Gil she'd been afraid she'd mess it up, and he'd dump her for someone with more experience, especially after finding her so tight the first time they'd had sex.

_Quietly he'd whispered, "We don't have to do this."_

"_I want to." She'd meant it. She did. She wanted to make love with him with her whole body. _

"_Just do what comes natural." _ She had and he'd seemed pleased. She'd come to savor this part of their lovemaking, loving when his control slipped as she made him cry out with the nip of her teeth, or the swirl of her tongue.

He'd confided to her once that she gave the "best blowjobs I've ever had." She'd thought him a glib ladies man, but not now. Not now that she'd come to know him, to know his body, his mind, the things that pleased him, that drove him to the edge of madness.

He liked control as well: loved the idea of being served. Loved when she gave him that knowing and salacious wink, slipped out of her top and bra or maybe all of clothes and knelt before him. He'd run his hands through her hair, massage her scalp with his thick fingers, saying her name over and over again. Cupping her breast with the other hand, he'd alternate between slow taunting nipple circles and full on squeezes.

He'd once suggested trying sixty nine. While she wasn't opposed to the idea, she kind of liked things the way they were: having him under her spell, watching that first jump of anticipation and then the sleep-like lull as his eyes rolled away and up into his lust filled head.

She got off on Gil getting off. She got off on making him get off.

Increasing her pace, her mouth started a low, almost imperceptible hum. He swore and shuddered. "Yeeesssss."

Wickedly, she stopped. She counted exactly two seconds. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

"Please-," he pleaded.

She resumed her licking and tasting, stopping a minute later to take off her top at his urging. "You have on too many clothes," he protested. Her response was to slip her damp sweatshirt over her head, followed quickly by the t-shirt and bra.

A nipple grazed his mouth as she hovered over him taking in his ruddy, passion filled face "You started without me," she teased, pulling the pink tip away from his lips. With feline grace, she slid down his sweat soaked skin and started in on him again. Gilcould hear the blood rushing in his ears and feel static breaths leaving his mouth. What this girl-woman did to him. She surprised him constantly. First with her wit and intellect, now she did it with her intuitive and completely compatible sexuality.

His devoured shaft disappeared again into her waiting mouth, the tip of his weeping cock hitting the back of her throat, creating final rivers of pleasure coarsing through him.The heat of her, the eroticism for the moment, all conspired to send him directly over the edge.

Semen spilled from him into Sara's eager mouth. "Yeeeeezzzz..." he buzzed collapsing against the sweat soaked sheets.

Observation Sara

I take a peak at Gil. He's not asleep. I can always tell. There's no steady breathing, no almost open mouth. His eyes are just closed, and his breathing has slowed, but he's still awake. My stomach gurgles.

"Hint taken," he says. "You must have your postcoital repast. I already called Opas."

"When?" I'm confused, because I know he hasn't moved from this spot.

"Earlier... Should be here in about fifteen minutes."

We're quiet for a time, until I have to ask. I couldn't help it, I just want know. ''How often do you do that, babe?"

Observation Gil

Well damn, I thought I was going to get away with this one. Of course she has questions. What woman wouldn't? She just walked in on me "interfering" with myself. Men do this. Women know they do it. In my experience, they don't want to know much else about it, and understandably so.

But Sara didn't walk out of the room and pretend it didn't happen like Alana had once. She didn't get angry or jealous, she just dealt with it in what, now that I think about it, was a very unselfish and giving manner.

"Now and again," I say, staring at the ceiling.

"Quantify Dr. Grissom," she demands.

I shrug in what I hope is a lighthearted fashion. "Well...I don't know-I guess maybe twice a week..."

I can feel her rest her head back on her own pillow. She' still very close to me, curls brushing against my shoulder. Sara may be the tallest woman I've ever been with. She's certainly got the longest limbs. Those legs. They are something no matter what they are doing, walking wrapped around me, reaching towards the leather ottoman.

That's what started it. I was cleaning up a bit before Sara got home. Straightening really. Sara and I are both neat, but hopeless packrats. A week's worth of magazines and journals covered every table in the living room and there were several on the couch. Sara's copy of "Getting the Love you Want." was on the ottoman. She's been reading lots of self help books lately, but I don't ask any questions. I know this is a process and Sara's on the first step. She was embarrassed about the books at first, but I made sure that she saw me reading one.

Anyway there I was putting up the books and papers and I got this image of Sara's feet pressed into the cognac colored material of the ottoman, then of her calves hovering over the floor, and finally those lovely thighs. A minute later I was shucking all of my clothes and stroking myself. I intended to be alluringly recovered by the time Sara came home. I'd be able to go for the long haul, only she'd finished what was supposed to be a mammoth test in barely 30 minutes.

The point is that I don't jack off a lot, because Sara keeps me pretty occupied. And when I do get off, it's mostly to images of Sara. It feels odd to be spurred on by images of Sara, when I don't have access to Sara.

"So uh, is there anything else I should know?" She wonders aloud.

I take a peak, but only see the top of her head. Between the sex and the rain it looks like she's got sort of an afro thing going.

"Like…" I prompt.

She hitches herself up, so that our faces are close again. "I don't know. Like, that could affect our sex life, or improve our sex life, or you know, anything you feel like sharing... Is there something you want to do? Together I mean."

My brain is going blank. I've got nothing. I mean, sure there's stuff I want to do, but none of it is coming to mind right now, because well…I can't really believe Sara asked the question. Why I don't know? It's very Sara to want to know everything. It's just that no one ever wanted to know my fantasies before.

"I...well, I don't know." I sputter. For god's sake, I sound like Greg.

Earth colored eyes burrow into mine and the top of my ears are getting hot and most probably red… Sara makes them do that when she's seeing right through me like now.

"I know what I said way back, you know when we got together, about stuff I wouldn't do and everything, but you know things are-…" She licks swollen lips. "They're different now… And if you want to-you know-try some different things, I'm willing to give it a shot. I mean, I know you wouldn't ever hurt me, physically, unless, you know, we got into some kinky stuff that calls for a little of that..." She's rambling. I make her do that.

I lift tendrils of hair away from her damp, flushed cheek. "Just because I was jacking off, it doesn't mean that I'm not satisfied with us. In fact, I'm very satisfied."

Her breath comes out in a light-hearted exasperation as she swats at my arm.. "I know that. It's just the men at the club, they're there 'cause…well, 'cause they're bored, right? Or I mean, they have wives, so there's gotta be a reason... And we don't do anything very...exciting. I mean, I thought we'd be doing more stuff." I start to speak, but she cuts me off shaking her head. "Not that I am complaining at all, but it's just, you know, I see these guys that come in night after night..."

"I can't say why they're there- the married ones. I can't answer that. I started coming there every night because of you, but my initial motivation is because I like hot, naked women. It's base. It's not very pc, but there it is. The married men, the committed men in there every night? Somethings wrong. I'm not saying it's their wife's fault," I assure her. "It might not be anybody's fault, maybe they're just with the wrong person. You don't go to see other women shimmy around with no clothes on night after night if somethings not wrong. Maybe it's internal or maybe it's they dynamic at home. Maybe you are stressed out at work but home is where you should be getting what you need whatever it is. If it's more sex or more romance or more talking you need to work that out at home not with someone else. I mean guys come there all the time just to talk to Marge or Marisol. When you always confide in someone else, or constantly fantasize about someone else you are heading down a slippery slope."

I give her a quick kiss. "I have everything I want at home."

"Me too." she grins shyly and plants a longer sweeter kiss on my lips. No tongue; just our lips meeting. When she breaks off, I see what I hope is the beginnings of love. Since the revelation about her parents there's been more of this. More moments where she lets me know how important I am; where she shows this incredible amount of trust. Honestly, it hasn't been that long since everything happened with her parents. She's been through so much, but yet she trusts me. I don't deserve it, but I've sworn to myself and God that I'll make myself worth it.

She interrupts my thoughts. "You know, I don't want you to get to that point where you need stimulation elsewhere."

"Sweetie. I just starred in my very own porn movie. You, me… All I needed was a pizza delivery uniform."

"I know where to get one of those."

"I bet." The doorbell is buzzing now and a bit of relief runs through me, even though I'm glad we've had this conversation. "Tell you what. I'll think about it and you think about it, too. We'll both make a list of things we might want to try-together, and we'll go from there. Fair?"

"Yep." Her stomach growls again. Laughing, I grab my pants and head for the door.


	12. Chapter 11

**I started to merge this with the next chapter but it just didn't' feel right so here's a another .5 chapter. I am trying to make up for the last week's missed deadline. Big ups to Jennifer, Michelle and Doris. I don't know exactly what big ups means but from MTV it seems to be a good things.**

Carefully Laura Sidle turned over the envelope in her hand. Robin, the woman who handled the mail duties, passed her the envelope at breakfast, just before she'd headed to help out with the computer lab's GED course.

The black handwriting was neat if not a little cramped. The envelope was mid weight ecru with little maroon something smattered throughout.

_Gilbert. I. Grissom_

The man, himself. The man who'd captured her daughter's heart, had inspired her to do something with her life, to use her brains for more than just mere survival. From everything Sara had said he seemed like a nice man: perhaps a bit controlling, and maybe a little too sure of himself. One could never know without observing him. Sara's letters were sometimes sparse on details, but she knew her daughter hid things. When Sara had children she'd understand that you couldn't really hide anything from a mother. Someday, God willing, she'd understand.

Sara hadn't told her the entire story. Laura didn't need her to spell it all out. Dashing older man meets troubled younger woman. That scenario only started out one way and it didn't involve Eliza Doolittle.

She had hope for the pair. The hope scared her.

_What the hell do you want Gil Grissom?_ Shaking her head she opened the letter very carefully. Perhaps she would even keep it. Show it to the grandkids one day. It was a short letter, but it said a lot about the man who'd written it.

_Ms. Sidle,_

_My name is Gil Grissom. I'm not sure Sara has mentioned me or not, but I have heard many wonderful things about you from Sara. I am not exactly sure why I'm writing you except that I feel compelled to tell you a few things._

_You have raised an amazing woman. Sara is vivacious, incredibly bright and terribly resilient. She has survived and thrived in ways you cannot imagine, or perhaps you can. You should know that Sara has told me everything._

_If Sara has not mentioned me, I suppose I should tell you that we have been seeing one another for nearly eight moths. I only expect our relationship to deepen and eventually end with marriage, or whatever commitment Sara is comfortable with._

_Considering what your family has been through, this is probably a frightening notion for both you and Sara. As I prove myself to Sara, I hope that I will be able to do the same with you. As I understand it, you and Sara are very much alike._

_Practically speaking, I make a good living and Sara will never want for anything. The fact is, she wants for nothing now. When she completes her education, she will be able to support herself in any manner she chooses. Even now, she could support herself without my help. I feel honored that she's allowed me to make her life more comfortable as she pursues her education._

_I understand how important you and her brother are to Sara. . I am very close to my own mother._

_Emotionally speaking, I will never, ever mistreat Sara and she has never, nor will she ever, fear for her safety. Ms. Sidle, I love your daughter, and I believe that she will come to love me, if she has not already. I also believe that we have started a tremendous life together. I simply hope that we might have your support._

_Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. Any response, no matter the temperament, will be greatly appreciated._

_Gilbert. I Grissom _Laura put the letter with Sara's and Davie's. It was too formal for her taste, but it was quite revealing. She would write him back, perhaps tell Davie about him. She didn't really trust most men, but this Mr. Grissom certainly warranted a glimmer of hope.

Observation Gil

Shit. How in the hell did I miss this? I mean really, how in the hell does one not even know when his girlfriend's birthday is? Why don't I know this? Am I truly that thick? Yes, apparently I am. Stupid! Stupid! I'm holding the letter from Sara's mother. Her birthday is this month. This very month! I don't even know what day. What if it's already passed? The odds are on my side because it's only the 5th.

The letter came today. I probably should have told Sara that I had written her mother, but I felt it was something I needed to do without her consultation. I hope she won't think I was trying to keep any secrets from her when it all comes out. But this contact with her mother required a bit of old fashioned formality.

Sara is in the loft, a room that used to be nothing but a dusty storage area. It has recently become her office of sorts. My volumes and specimen jars have been relegated to the garage and any other place I can find for them. With her safely out of sight, I make a mad dash for her wallet. Her license will have a birthday and hopefully I won't look like such a schmuck. Hopefully, I've got enough time to pull something together for the occasion. Heart beating fast, my hand slips into her purse and pulls out the ancient leather wallet.

Furtively I pull out her license so that I can get a better look at it. _What in the hell... This is-it's not right. Is it?_

"Gil," Sara calls from the loft, standing at the top of the stairs. She starts walking down them. "If I don't like to experiment on animals, does that make me a bad scientist?"

The wallet goes back into the purse. My hands are sweating and confusion is beginning to make my head throb. _Maybe I read it wrong. Surely I did._ Sara's standing in front of me now, looking very worried and anxious. _What? Oh, the animals._ I desperately try to switch gears. _Sara loves animals. She doesn't want to experiment on them. Right._ I'll have to think about the purse and its contents later.

I put my hand over hers, hoping that she doesn't notice the sweat, hoping my voice is steady. "No, that doesn't make you a bad scientist. There are lots of career paths and courses of study a criminalist can take that don't involve experimentation on animals. Let me show you something I just got in the mail..."

OOOOOOOO

Patrick says I should come by the church tomorrow at four. It can't be soon enough for me. There is too much buzzing around in my head, and I need to talk to someone besides Brass. If I tell him about my discovery, he'll just feel more protective than he does right now.

Her birthday is next week. This is a good thing, for many reasons, not the least of which is that the school will be closed for a complete security overhaul.

Sara has been complaining all week about overprotective parents "messing with her schedule." Parents aren't the only ones that called. An overprotective boyfriend who has endowed three book scholarships might have had something to do with it as well.

"You know, I think Kelly's Dad actually sprung for a new library. I mean, come on. It's a guy WITH a gun. He didn't even shoot it. He didn't even AIM it. They're just being a bunch of wusses. Buck up. There's more to be afraid of than men with guns who don't even have the balls to shoot them."

"Hon, parents aren't the only ones concerned. I called Dr. Simpson, too."

SVJ's president and I aren't exactly drinking buddies, but we've played the occasional round of golf.

"You did?" Her voice is tinged with a hint of appreciation. She moves about restlessly for a second.

Her hair, nearly black from the damp of the shower, fans slightly over the pillow, leaving apple scented shampoo in the air. She's flopping her left foot from one side to the other. Occasionally, her big toe assaults my ankle. This last time drew blood I'm sure.

"Could you get those dealt with? You could climb a tree with those toe nails."

She lifts a long, elegant leg, along with her head and peers at her big toe. "Sorry," she mumbles with exasperation.

She continues to rattle on, dropping her foot back down. "What am I supposed to do for a week? I only have one shift at the club because Mandy needed extra money for some piercing or other. I'm telling you, that girl is going to spring a leak if she gets a hole put in one more thing. Do you know she has one in her na-na."

I turn my head to look at her. "Her what?"

"You know her fluffy," she says with perfect rationality.

I don't even try not laugh. Sara lets out a little giggle on her own.

"Fluffy? Na-Na? Are you referring to parts of the female anatomy?"

She absently starts with the foot flopping again. "What the hell am I going to do for a week? And don't you dare say clean, 'cause if you do, I'm gonna slap you." She appears to contemplate her options for a moment longer. "I guess I could try out some new recipes, and maybe go swimming at Kelly's. She keeps talking about laying out all week. I told her she's going to get skin cancer. I probably shouldn't have said the C word. Huh? I mean, with her mom and everything-"

"We could celebrate your birthday," I offer quietly.

"My-oh it is next week. I almost forgot. How'd you know about that?" She looks up at me suspiciously, but at least I don't feel like a jerk for not knowing in the first place.

"A man must keep some secrets."

And so, it seems, must a woman.

OOOOOOOOO

"I don't want to go _out of town_," she whines. "Why can't we just stay here for my birthday? Why do we have to go away. I really don't want to go _out of town_," she says again. There is something about the way she says that phrase with such disgust.

I decide to change tactics. We are sitting at a small French café, enjoying one of the sidewalk tables. Sara looks young and lovely with her dark glasses and coral lip-gloss. "Why don't you want to go, sweetheart?"

"I don't want to go _OUT OF TOWN_. I've been places..." She's beginning to get quite huffy; one of her many defense mechanisms.

"Oh?" I say. "Please, fill me in on your extensive travel history." I take a sip of my iced tea and she glowers at me for a second.

"I'm already _out of town_. I left one town and now I'm in this one. So there, I'm always _out of town_. Can't we just like go to fancy restaurant for my birthday, and have a cake, and maybe try some stuff on our lists."

I suppress a grin at the mention of our "sex" lists. That's what Sara calls them. I haven't actually seen Sara's yet, but I suspect it's a catalog of sexual positions. Mine has become something different. It covers the many things I want to share with her and talk about.

"We will be going to a fancy restaurant, and we'll have cake, and try some stuff on our lists. The only difference is that we aren't going to be doing it here. We are doing it in Catalina."

Her eyes seem to light up for a second, but the worry enters them again. "How long are we going to be gone?"

"A week. Next week."

Somehow, I thought things would get better when she heard that. Perhaps I should stop thinking where Sara is concerned.

"A whole week!"

"Seven days, 10,080 minutes or-"

"604,800 seconds, whatever… Why do we have to go _out of town_ for all of this?"

My hand reaches for hers, and she tenses for a moment until I bring the inside of her wrist to my lips. A middle aged couple next to us smiles broadly. "Because I want you to relax. I know you don't recognize this right now, but you are under a lot of stress and if I let you stay here, you will clean, and organize, and iron my socks, and maybe you'll spend a few hours at Kelly's. But it won't be nearly enough."

She brightens for a moment. "If I promise to relax, do we still have to go?"

"Sara..." I sigh.. "What's this really about?"

She shrugs and looks at the other couple for a moment. "I bet they go _out of town_," she whispers, leaning in.

"I bet they're out of town," I add

The waitress comes and I place our order: a tomato salad and cheese soup for Sara; pasta tossed with asparagus for me. She spears a tomato and takes a petulant bite. "Rich people go _out of town_. The people who came to the lake in Lomo Costa were _out of town_. They didn't care anything about us. Just wanted our moms to work for them doing their menial chores for next to nothing, wanted us kids to stay out of their way, and wanted our dad's to mow their lawns. They were OUT OF TOWN."

"First of all, we aren't rich. However, if we do become rich, I promise to let you know right away. Second, I'm sorry that you had that kind of negative experiences from those people. But we aren't those people. We are going to treat anyone who provides us service with nothing but respect and courtesy."

She sticks her nose in her water class and mumbles. "In case you missed it, I'm in service. Remember me-the bartender

Another thing we still need to discuss.

In light of everything. She's got to quite tending bar. "And did I ever treat you badly? Ever tip you sparingly? Ever act like you were in any way less of a person than me."

She begins to created confetti with the whole grain roll in front of her. "Yeah, but you wanted to get into my pants… ."

Eyes dark and serious accuse me of old sins. "You can't be serious. You really think that's why I was nice to you? That I only treated you with respect, because I wanted to sleep with you?" The other couple has stopped eating and are now watching us with an undisguised interest. Shooting them a caustic glare, I lean forward and lower my voice while pushing my food away; my appetite long gone. "Do you honestly think I would have treated you differently at the club, if I wasn't attracted you?"

"Well...people do treat people differently, when they aren't attracted to them. That's how they let the people know."

"Forget the attraction in this equation-"

"How can I? It was there. It's been a part of our relationship since the first day we met."

_She's right. Of course she's right._ I hang my head a moment, realizing that there really is no way to separate it from the equation. I've wanted her almost from the instant I laid eyes on her. I tried to stop myself from wanting her, but in the end it was all folly. "Okay," I throw my hands up in defeat. "Point taken. But, for the record I don't go around being mean to my yardman, or the lady that cleans my office down at PD either. I treat all people with respect and dignity."

"Of course you do." Her hands have stopped assaulting the bread and she's now making waves in her soup. "It's easy to be kind when you're the one in control. You're the boss. It's just as easy to be kind as it is to be cruel, because it doesn't make a difference either way. You don't need them. Your maid, your yard guy, your nanny; they can all be replaced. You have the money and the power. There's no equity in those relationships. Nothing is going to happen to you if you treat them badly. Just like nothing is going to happen to you, if you treat them well."

I can feel that familiar buzzing in my ears and I begin to wonder how far I am from a migraine. Sara signals to the bleary eyed waiter, who immediately scurries over and frowns at our uneaten food. "Is everything alright?"

Sara gives him one of her dazzling smiles. God, I hate when she smiles at other men like that, even if it is forced and completely fake. "It was fine. We're just not feeling well." She stands, smooths down her white t-shirt, and nods towards me. "He'll be paying. He's a great tipper." She gives him another artificial smile as I reluctantly reach for my wallet.

TBC


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N Thanks so Michelle and Jennifer for the great beta work. Also if you have been reading and have not left a note or review. I would love to hear from you. **

Sara

Last night was bad. We left the restaurant and went home. He went to his office. I went to the loft. When I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, I snuck into what I thought was an empty bed only to find Gil had somehow slipped in without my hearing him leave his office. I could tell he wasn't asleep.

I was feeling guilty and remorseful, 'cause really it was my fault. Gil didn't do anything. I mean, the poor guy just wants to take me on a nice trip for my birthday. I still don't' know how he knew about the date, but I don't know how Gil knows half the things he does.

The point is, all of my birthdays have been crap since I was six years old, and to go from crap to tremendous just plain freaks me out. He showed me the boat he wants us to take out there. It's called the Lazy Dazy and it takes about three hours to get there that way. Gil said we could get there quicker but he thought I would enjoy the boat better. And, well, he's right it looks really cool.

It only takes about 20 people per excursion, so there's probably lots of mingling with the other couples. I'd psyched myself up for the ballet in a few weeks. We only had to be with other people for the 45 minute mixer before and the 20 minute intermission. But this was a lot more time, and a more intimate setting. And well, I just don't know what to say to people that live that kind of life. I mean, they're going to ask me all kinds of questions and will want to know what I do for a living. I don't want to tell them I tend bar at a strip club and that I'm just a student. The famous Gil Grissom doesn't date women like me. People are bound to recognize him from CNN and CourtTV, and they'll wonder what the hell he's doing with some barely educated, glorified waitress.

So yeah, I snapped at him, because just I couldn't figure out what else to do or how to get out of it. He was so proud of himself for having made all these plans and everything, and I just fucked it up big time.

So, that's what I was thinking about when I saw his eyes flick open for a second, as he sighed and turned away from me. I figured it was up to me to make amends. So, I stripped off all my clothes as quietly as I could, pressed my breasts into his naked back, and I started to kiss his neck.

Right away I knew something was wrong, but I figured I just caught him off guard. He sort of froze for a second, and then turned onto his back. When he turned over, my hand was moving over his smooth chest and my lips were going for his lips.

Then the growling started. I don't know what else to call it because he wasn't yelling-exactly. But he was shaking a little when he pushed my hand away from him.

"You don't have to fuck me every time you think I'm mad at you. You don't have to fuck me when I do nice things for you. In fact, tell you what…why don't you just not screw me **_at all_**."

I could feel my cheeks burning and there were tears pooling in my eyes. Thank god he left before I cried. I can't even remember the last time I cried, and I certainly don't want him seeing me cry. _What an asshole_, I thought. Or at least, that's what I wanted to think. Some of what was going through my mind was, _What did I do wrong?_ I was just doing what I thought he wanted me to do.

Anyway, I don't know where he is, if he's in the house, or what. I wish I could have said something back, but I was really just too freaked out and scared, 'cause he was really mad. I've never seen him like that. His face was all sweaty and his eyes weren't clear blue like they usually are, but dark and a little bloodshot. He just kept clenching and unclenching his fist.

I cried for a little bit after he left. Not so much because of him being mean. I mean it started out like that, but as I was crying I realized… Well, **_I WAS CRYING!_** A man had made me cry.

My God… I actually love him.

Lots of people have said plenty of worse stuff to me, people I cared about too, but this was just…well, it made me feel like black lava was oozing through my body, killing everything in its path. Everything was hot, and then it was cold. My face must have looked like a red hot poker. In retrospect, it's probably good I didn't say anything. Because if I love him, it must mean that he really cares about me. I may have a lot to learn, but I'm not quite that stupid. I wouldn't be falling love with a guy if he didn't care anything about me.

You see if I had started yelling, it would have just gotten worse, because no one can hurt you more than the people you care about.

So, I'm lying here, basically hiding out. Gil came in a little while ago to take a shower. But I just pretended I was asleep when he came towards the bed. I don't want him yelling at me anymore. I really don't think that he will, but who knows at this point? He stood there for a while and pushed a lock of sleep tangled hair from my forehead.

I just heard his car pull out of the driveway. I think he's going to see Father Ado today.

I sure hope so.

Observation-Gil

There was very little that surprised Gil Grissom. Sure the creativity of crimes caught him off guard. Mostly, the keen observer was comfortable with the world offered and the path it could lead one down. He'd gone in Sara's wallet expecting one thing, but finding the completely unexpected. For the first time in a long while, Gil Grissom was taken by complete surprise and he had no idea what to do about it.

Gil

Patrick Ado doesn't like Coca Cola. He only drinks Pepsi, I carry a chilled six pack along with a bottle of wine from my mother that came from our family's vineyard in Napoli. His graceful charcoal hands greedily reach for the offerings as soon as he opens the door to his ram shackled office at the back of St. Anne's

"Gilbert," he booms. I hope Sara knows that's my name. I'll have to tell her, and that my middle name is Isaac. I rest my aching back in the chair I donated to the church after my last move. It's the only thing in the office that is less than 20 years old.

"Back bothering you again." He said rummaging through his desk. "You must be working too much."

Why can't I just have normal friends? Friends that don't notice every hitch in my step. He pulls a corkscrew from his desk and goes to work on the wine. He pours two glasses.

He stares at me for a long, painful moment, his black eyes like curious embers. I sip. He waits. The guilty will talk, if you only give them space.

"You need the seal of confession?" He wants to be clear.

I shrug.

Despite my indifference, we go through the rituals, and then reach for the wine.

"It's about Sara?"

Another shrug from me and another blank stare from him. "I thought she was 22."

"She told you this?" He puts his nose to the glass.

"I met her at a bar. Actually, I met her at a strip club where she tends bar."

"Why did you think she was 22?"

"She'd been there for a little under a year." His glass is suddenly empty. He fills it with half the volume of before.

"Makes sense."

"I don't think I really wanted to know. In the light of day, I should have known. She's just so beautiful, and I lost control."

He takes another sip of his wine and crosses his ankle over one thigh. "If you ever had it," he murmurs.

My cheeks are burning from the embarrassment of the prospective revelation. "She turns 18 on Monday."

"Ah," is all he says just before he takes another sip of wine. "How long have you two been together?"

My own glass is still half full. The wine is far too good for guzzling. I never thought about how long we have been together. How long have we not been together? "We-ah- started seeing one another the last week in July. So, seven months."

He shifts his seat and I squirm in the chair. He licks full lips. "You were close before?"

"Yes. Yes. I guess we were. We talked a lot at the bar."

He gives a brief smile and I can see a bit of the mischief maker he must have been in his youth. "I would venture to say that you hardly looked at the show much."

Gil shook his head. "There are other-concerns."

"Other sins?" I want to yell at him that nothing I do with, or for Sara could possibly be a sin. I have never been able to articulate, or completely understand that particular corner of religion. What I do know is whatever it was, or is, you cannot feel what I feel for Sara, or know what I know about our possibilities, and there be something bad or wrong about it. Sin is death. When we overcome death, we've fought sin. There was something dying inside of me before. Now, there is a flower.

"I exchanged money for sexual favors."

The glass makes no sound as he sets it down on the battered coffee table between us. "With your Sara?"

I nod again. Confession is not supposed to be a psychiatric session.

"Does she engage in prostitution?" he asks quietly sounding a little too puritan for my tastes.

"No!"

"I see." His pale nail runs around the edge of his glass. I blink quickly, as warmth spreads from my throat into my cheeks. He has this way of making me feel so damned guilty, even more than I did before walking in. "It's not for me to understand, Gilbert. That is between you and God. I am here so that your mistakes will not be held in private. Confession is not about explanation. It is about speaking sinfulness out loud, so that we are aware, accountable, so that we are able to seek contrition."

I know this. I have been Catholic all my life, and not just the rote and verse ritual following of most. I read and studied. I don't follow anything by rote. Still, it's good to hear Peter say the words aloud.

"I don't know what to do."

"Yes. That makes sense. It shows that your intentions towards this young woman come from a good place."

"I love her." Desperately.

"Clearly. She looks at you as though you hung the moon in the sky, and you look at her like you plan on doing exactly that."

He won't say it, so I do. "She's just...so young."

The wordless air fills the space. He doesn't comfort. How can he? Not knowing what else to do, I begin to drum my fingers on the scratched arm of my chair.

"You remind me of Paul, Gil."

"Hardly," I murmur into my chin sinking into my chest

He recounts what must be a time tested story. "Paul was like you. Well educated. Very smart. Regimented. He liked order and rules. I imagine they made him feel safe, as they should. When he found his life turned upside down, it was very disconcerting to him, but he was charged with a task and he performed it admirably. We make a number of plans in our lives. We plan on making this happen or we plan on that not happening. Rules are there for a reason, and we should follow them to the best of our ability. You had absolutely no business with this girl. It was skirting the edges of legality and the manner in which you engaged in this relationship was morally wrong. You had no business paying her to sleep with you."

For an instant the flogging feels good. "I didn't do that-exactly. I mean. It's not like that anymore-I don't think."

"Apparently, she is in a position to be taken advantage of?"

"Yes. A- friend hired her. She probably did it to keep her off the street. I really don't know. I haven't talked to Sara about this yet. We had a fight yesterday." I take a deep breath. "It was a bad one. I said some things...I shouldn't have said." He gives me a kind stare. "I promised her that I would never treat her badly."

"Of course, but it's all a bit muddied now, isn't it? A little too difficult to wear that damn honesty of yours on your sleeve." A physical slap wouldn't sting as bad. "Honesty does not make you moral and good. It is only a contribution to the totality of a moral person."

"I know."

"Your whole life is about absence, Gilbert. It's about the absence of lies and the absence of relational commitment. You aren't monogamous, but as long as you are honest about it, that makes it okay in your mind. Paul thought he was doing well, as long as he followed the rules, as he believed them to be. His rules allowed for the persecution of Christians. Your rules allow for the breaking of hearts. But now you have this Sara in your life. God does have a since of humor."

"I never…"

"Haven't you? You sleep with women. You treat them well. Buy them gifts. One even met your mother."

"This isn't about Alana."

"No, it isn't. Until Sunday I thought it would always be about her, but now I see that you've moved forward. That is good. You two weren't right for one another."

"What happened to this not being a counseling session?"

He ignores me as he runs his index finger along his jaw. "I seldom have you in a position of powerlessness. It's the only time you will actually listen to anyone. You love these people. You love these women, and because you tell them that you aren't able to be a one woman man, you think it's all right. But you lie to them. You lie to yourself. You lie to God."

I swallow hard. "I haven't lied to anyone."

Peters give me a superior smile. "Haven't you? You treat people very well, Gilbert. You are kind, and charming, and always easy with the baubles of life, but all of that is covering something isn't it? You always want to create the parameters in any relationship. You are uncomfortable with things progressing naturally, because then they would be out of your control. You have very little control regarding this young woman, so you created a situation which would allow you to control her. No matter that it wasn't right." He blinks hard. "Your father left you without very much control."

"This is not about my father."

"Isn't it?"

"I don't want to talk about it any longer." There, he can't make me talk about anything. I don't want to. It's my confession, and I have confessed. I don't need a priest. I need a friend. I shouldn't have come here. I shift my weight to the edge of the chair. It's time to leave.

"Gil, you need to hear this."

"I don't need this. I came because I was confused. I'm not anymore, and so I am leaving."

"That's not why you came. I believe you did think your dear Sara was 22. You committed no sin with regard to Sara's age. At least not the one you came to confess. It's like taking a drink from a spiked punch bowl. How could you know? You acted on good faith. You have to stop this Gil. You can't keep pulling people in and pushing them away once they cross some arbitrary line that no one else can see."

"I am not pushing Sara away!" Who the hell does he think he is? I love Sara.

Peter watches me. We play the staring game. Of course the priest wins. "What are you going to do?"

I shrug the bluster knocked out of me. I feel limp and wrung out. What am I going to do?

"I feel as if I am missing pieces of this story."

"She's just so special. She deserves better. I kept telling myself that what I was doing was keeping her safe."

"In all likelihood you were. That's the sadness." His voice is stern and tired.

We drink the rest of the bottle without talking. I leave knowing exactly what needs to be done.

TBC


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N Thank for all the lovely reviews. Thank to Michelle and Jennifer for all her hard work. Thanks to Jennifer for pointing out and double checking the legal issue. In case you haven't notice I've not mentioned what state they are in. I have certainly alluded to a state but suffice it to say that you must be 18 to consent to sex with someone that is 14 years older than you are. **

**Happy Thanksgiving!!**

Observation

He didn't know how long she'd been standing there. Since he had pulled his suitcase from the closet? While he neatly folded three work shirts? As he tossed his underwear on top of his jeans?

"Hi," she said softly, startling him. He squared his shoulders and turned to face her.

Her outfit was young and surprisingly free spirited; a form fitting white T-shirt, silver hoop earrings, matching necklace and indigo jeans. He wondered about a jacket. The weather was so unpredictable this time of year.

"Hello," he returned wondering what she was thinking about the suitcase, wanting desperately to hold her, but keeping himself from doing so. "Where did you go?"

"Kelly and I went to lunch." Her voice was calm, but her eyes were infinitely sad. She nodded towards the suitcase. "Going somewhere?"

He shifted his jaw, emphasizing his underbite. "To Brass' for a few days."

"Oh." They looked at each other for a few moments, both scared and more than a little nervous "I guess you're still mad at me."

"Sweetheart," he sighed, and walked across the room, reaching out his hand to her. "Come sit."

Sara took his hand and followed him to his side of the bed where she took a seat next to him. "I'm very sorry about the things I said last night." He took another deep breath and lowered his head a bit so that he could see her eyes. "As God is my witness, I will never ever do anything like that again."

Her eyes softened and she gave him a gentle smile of encouragement.

"It wasn't about the trip. It wasn't about the argument." He took a deep breath and forged on, "I wrote your mother."

Sara blinked. _What in the hell..._ "You-my-Mom. Why'd you do that?"

"Because I needed for her to understand that my intentions are honorable where you're concerned. I know your family is very important to you, and I wanted to assure her that I was here for the long haul."

"You-" She swallowed hard. "-are?"

His eyes bright and shinning, he gave her hand a squeeze as he lifted her fingers to his lips. "I am."

"Oh." A bright grin nearly split her face and she suddenly understood what giddy meant, "That's just-" Her pony-tailed hair swung a bit as she cocked her head to the side. "I don't understand. Did my mom say something nutty? She comes off a little flighty sometimes, but really she's not that crazy..."

"She was completely lovely." One of his half smiles made an appearance in a way that made Sara blush. "If not a bit stern and protective."

Sara smiled, but it quickly dissolved into a frown. "Then what's wrong."

Grissom cleared his throat and skimmed his curls with his free hand. "She mentioned your birthday. She didn't say the day, so I went in to your wallet to look at your license."

"Okay..."

"Sara, how old are you?"

"Seventeen," she said easily, her eyebrows still bunching together in confusion, her whiskey colored eyes free from any worry or concern.

The sigh that came from him this time was mournful. "Sweetheart… **_I_** didn't know that."

"Everyone knows, though. Melinda, Marg. It's like, what do you call it? An open secret? How can you not know?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea... but I didn't."

"Oh," was all Sara could think to say. She looked behind him at the suitcase on the bed. "That's why you're leaving? Cause I'm 17?"

"Yes."

"I don't...You care about that!" Sara sputtered making him chuckle lightly despite the gravity of the situation. "Yeah,cause I'm going to rat on you." She laughed at her own sarcasm. "Gil that's just- Well that's just silly. We've already had sex and I'll be 18 in three days." Sara waggled her thumb index and middle finger at him

"Sara," he tried again. "Essentially, I'm an officer of the court. My integrity in all areas of my life is very important. If it ever comes out that you were 17 when we met, I can make a case that I didn't know about it. But now that I know, I have to follow the rules."

"Gil..." she whined putting her head on his shoulder. He thought about removing it, but simply could not bring himself to do it.

"Honey," his voice was equally forlorn. "I don't want to go, but I have to. It's just three days, and then we're off to Catalina and this-difficulty will be behind us."

Silence surrounded them for several minutes. It was Sara who finally spoke. "I'm sorry I was being so stupid about the trip, and I'm sorry I thought you knew about my age."

He slipped a strong arm around her waist. "It's not your fault. We still have a lot to learn about one another, but there's still all this good stuff between us. There's warmth, passion, and despite my awful behavior last night Ihope there's trust. And I was only angry because I didn't ask the right questions."

She didn't want to be in the house without him. Didn't know how she could sleep without him there. It was only three days but it made her terribly sad that she was forcing him out of his home. But, her other side was terribly proud of him: of his integrity.

"I'll miss you," she whispered.

"Not any more than I'll miss you."

**Sara**

The phone is ringing and I'm not really sure if I should answer it. I mean, I live here now, don't I? No invitation was given nor accepted. .One Saturday Gil just said, "this was madness," that I hadn't been to my place in weeks and hardly any of my stuff was still there. So, I gave notice and put my furniture in storage.

It scared the shit out of me. Still does. I don't know the rules here. Who knows I live here? I'm sure Jim knows but what about his mother or Greg? Mostly his mother IMs and emails, and Greg only calls his cell so it hasn't really been an issue. But today, the first day Gil has been gone, the landline has rung three times.

The first time I ignored it. The second time I looked at the caller ID. It said unknown caller, so it was probably just a telemarketer. But now it's ringing again. I leave the apple I'm slicing and walk over to the phone.

The caller ID says: Alana.

I pick up the phone.

"Hello," I say in my most confident voice, though my mouth is dry and my heart has just about stopped.

"Oh. I think I have the wrong number." Her voice is cool and precise. "Is this-" And she repeats Gil's number.

"Yes it is," I say.

"Oh," she responds, a bit confused. There's a long pause, where you know what the other person is thinking and they know what you are thinking and the situation is moving from awkward to damn well embarrassing. Only, for once, I'm not the one getting embarrassed. If she really wanted him, then she shouldn't have left him.

"Well..." She's trying to regain her composure. "May I speak with Gilbert."

Gilbert? Who calls him Gilbert? I bet his mother doesn't even call him that.

"Gil isn't in," I say pleasantly. I return to my apple, thinking this might take awhile.

"Well, I'll just call back. " She hangs up before I can respond.

"You just do that."

**Gil**

It occurs to me that Alana might call while I'm gone, and that Sara might answer the phone. She never does, but it is her home too, and she has every right. Brass was the first person to tell me that Alana was back in town from consulting with the Tate in London. Apparently, he saw her at a poker game that we both drop in on from time to time.

She's called a few times since she's been back. Nothing terribly persistent, but certainly something I'm not willing or able to deal with at the moment. My focus right now is settled on making sure that Sara and I are on the right path. The age thing has… Well, it's messing with my head. But she'll be legal in a few days, and the Sara I fell in love with when I thought she was 22 is the very same Sara that I now know is only 17. It's not going to be easy, but I still think we can deal with the age difference.

Of course, I'm certainly not going to go around announcing her age, but at least I won't be committing a felony-any longer. There is a co-habitation,common law loophole but it's not really clear when we started living together so better safe than sorry.

Peter was right. Alana and I don't belong together and it seems a bit absurd to think that I had ever considered her my soul mate: honestly believing that we'd one day find our way back to one another.

Now that I'm with Sara, I know that was never a viable possibility. Sara KNOWS me. She knows my bad habits; my lusty nature, my propensity to flirt with pretty women, the contradictory jealously I feel when she does the same thing. And the things she doesn't know yet will come to be known naturally. But even with all of that, she still cares for me, doesn't hold any of it against me, sees it all simply as my traits and not as faults to endure.

There's nothing about me that I'm ashamed of, or feel the need to over explain. I don't worry that she'll think I'm strange or sexist or difficult. She already knows that I am those things, and it doesn't seem to matter.

With Alana I tried to change, or to suppress those things. I tried as hard as I ever had. With Sara, I just am.

TBC


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N Thanks for your patience and thanks to Michelle and Jennifer.**

Completely exhausted, he walked into the house feeling elated and longing for her. It had been his intention to return home at precisely one minute past midnight on the day of Sara's birthday. Instead, there had been a triple murder, and the bodies were covered with ants that were typically only found in the Amazon. As he had suspected, it was merely a ploy to throw investigators off. The perp had only succeeded in revealing his identity - an exotic pet store owner who kept a supply of the ants to feed to several of his pets. He counted himself lucky that he hadn't told Sara when he planned to return.

Now he was standing next to his couch, watching the steady rise and fall of Sara's chest , and noticed the small platter of fruit and cheese on the table. The whole scene showed him the folly of his logic.

He chuckled lightly and lowered his head to give her a kiss along her hairline. "Can't put anything over on you, Gorgeous."

She stirred and then settled back down as he studied her for several long minutes. Should he carry her to bed? He was loath to disturb her sleep. Unable to resist, he kissed her again, this time on her full mouth, and then he slipped his arms under her warm, half limp body.

The pale blue chemise she was wearing felt cool and pleasant against his skin. It smelled of lavender and white roses.

As he moved from the living room, Sara squirmed against him. "Bugs?" she wanted to know.

"I'm sorry," he replied, settling her into the bed.

"S'okay. I made you a snack." She yawned and for a second he was delighted at the prospect that she would become fully awake and stay up with him for a little longer. Instead, she fell back against the pillow, her hair a tangle of spiderwebs, her breathing deep and precise.

"Good to be home, Gorgeous," he whispered.

**Sara**

He's in there talking to that damn roach. He says he's going to race him. Weird. The roach's name is Jesse, as in Owens, as in fast as lightning. That was my idea.

"You've been gone for three days, and the roach gets more attention than I do," I say, putting my head on his shoulder. He slips the glass back on the terrarium, and gives me a kiss. His mouth tastes of citrus and beer. God, I missed the taste of him.

"Drinking already? Being away from me has turned you into a lush," I tease. His entire body is facing me now, his strong warm hands on my hips, his eyes bright, sweet and sexy.

"Brass came by about noon, and we had a couple. Personally, I think he just wanted to make sure I was really at home. He's been grilling me non-stop for the last three days."

"What time is it?" My voice is still kind of gravely, and I probably have the worst morning breath ever.

"About two." He kisses me again and this time pulls me in closer. He's wearing jeans and a white t-shirt from some bug seminar; there's a picture of some sort of bug holding a smoking gun.

I blink my eyes and clear my throat. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Because you were exhausted. Honey, you work two jobs and go to school. You needed the sleep and you need this vacation." He pauses and regards me for several seconds. "This is the part where you say, I'm right."

I crinkle my nose and slip my arms around his neck. I do feel very rested and I guess I was pretty tired. And it would be good to get away and do nothing but sleep, eat and screw. I think I'm just beginning to understand what it means to truly rest; to have the world move off of your shoulders, even if only for a short time. Until I met Gil I never slept easy. My life was a mixed bag of false starts and frantic stops. I didn't know that before, but now I know what it is to sleep for the purpose of rest, to wake up and know that it's just going to be another ordinary day, and I don't have to lie about my age, or where I live, or who and what I am.

Jesse begins butting his head against the glass, but Gil gives it two harsh taps. "Cut it out," he says and the insect retreats

From out of nowhere, it suddenly dawns on me that I'm incredibly horny, so I ask, "What time are we leaving?"

"About 4." He glances down at his watch and adds, "And we should probably get packed."

"Already done," I announce proudly.

"Aren't you the efficient one." He rubs his half erect cock against me. "What every are we going to do for the next two hours."

With a raised eyebrow, I retort, "I have some ideas." Taking his hand, I lead him out of the room.

OOOOOOOOO

Walking around the boat deck, I finally found a spot that will give me a little sun, but won't fry me. I have a tall fruit juice with an umbrella in it. Gil says I can still drink at home and MAYBE in the hotel room. This living on the right side of the law can be really irritating.

He's off somewhere, but I can still hear him talking, and he's got that flirty tone in his voice right now, so I'm pretty sure he's found some adoring creatures to hang on his every word.

A guy, who actually looks a bit like Gil and has been at the back of the boat chain smoking most of the trip, plops down onto the empty chair at my right. 

He is pulling another cigarette out of a pack that's obviously been crushed by the weight of something. "Hiya," he says, giving me the full advantage of his baby blues. His hair is half black, half white. There's something young and free about his baby face, even though there are cracks starting to form around his eyes.

"Hello," I say to the stranger.

"Billy," he offers.

"Sara," I return. There's some exaggerated laughter across the lounge and to the other side of the small boat, and I watch Gil come into view. I can hear him clearly now, and he's telling the story about the guy with the gun that held him hostage. He'll leave out that it was only for ten minutes, and that as soon as he figured out it was a water gun he decked the guy. He really needs to get a new story.

I flick my eyes back to Billy, who's busy trying to get a gold lighter to offer a flame. "That your fella?" he nods towards Gil.

I ignore him. "Do you really need another one of those?" I'm not too disturbed by cigarettes. I mean, I do work in a strip club, but this guy is like a chimney. Someone this cute shouldn't try to die so early.

He looks me up and down, but not like he's checking me out, or anything, just like he's appraising me. "Look-Sara?" I nod to let him know he was correct, and he continues, "I got a leggy brunette waiting for me on the other side who's gonna tell me I smoke too much. Now, if the smoke is bothering you, then that's something else alt-..."

I wave my hand in defeat. "No No. Smoke away."

He finally gives up on the lighter and tosses it to his right off the boat.

"Uh, isn't that illegal?"

"You gonna rat me out to the coppers ?" he rattles off in some silly old movie accent that I can't pinpoint. He nods toward Gil and the two blonds he's acquired. "That your fella?

"Yeah," I admit.

"He's a flirt," he says without judgment. One of the blonds is putting her very expensive left breast into Gil's chest. Gil smiles, and takes a step back, out of the line of fire.

I turn towards Billy, who's produced what looks to be a Scotch and soda from somewhere. Just how many vices does this man have? "Yeah, well, so are you."

The ice makes no sound and he swirls the drink for effect. "What…do you girls have some kind of coalition forming? Leggy, sarcastic brunettes of the world unite." He waves the scotch around in the air, "What's she got…a mic in your ear telling you what to say."

I turn my attention from the book I'm reading and give him one last look. "You must like it, because no one made you sit here."

"True," he acknowledges, taking a sip of his drink. He puts the glass down as he looks at Gil and the women for a time. "Your fella looks familiar." He rotates so he can read the title of my book "The Casebook of Forensic Detection: How Science Solved 100 of the World's Most Baffling Crimes." He grins. "That actually sounds kind of interesting."

I grunt something and bury my head in the book, because about six seconds ago I noticed that Gil caught site of this guy jabbering on to me.

"Uh Oh," Billy says out of the corner of his mouth as Gil leaves the blondes behind. "Your fella's coming-. Hey, he's the guy that does that forensic stuff on TV, huh? Forensic guy, forensic girl… That's neat. Want me to tell him that you totally blew me off and admonished me to mend my evil ways."

"I don't want you to tell him anything," I say in very low voice. "And I didn't blow you off. There was nothing to be-" I'm flustered now. Can't a girl just read a book and sip her fruit juice in peace?

"Well, don't say _THAT_ to him. It'll only make things worse." This Billy person seems to think this is funny. It, however, is not funny. Not funny at all.

Gil takes the seat to my left, but not before offering a hand to the other man. "Gil," he says easily.

"Billy," the other man returns. "You girlfriend was just telling me I smoke too much. I told her that my girlfriend says the same thing. I was just trying to get all my smoking in before she meets me at the pier." He rolled his eyes and added, "I'm supposed to be cutting back."

God bless, Billy. Gil is not particularly jealous. Well, I guess he is a little. I mean, it's just one of those things. He can flirt, but I can't flirt because he says that I take everything way more seriously than he does. By his logic, if I'm flirting, then it's got to mean something. I guess he's right. Of course, I never flirted with anyone at the club but him and he never even told me the hostage story.

**Gil**

I've gotten Sara settled into our room and she insists that she wants a hamburger. In fact "she's dying for a burger." I honestly believe that she just thinks she wants a burger. She can barely eat chicken and fish anymore. But she's insisting and I know just the place.

She cocks her head and gives me this strange look and I'm getting the distinct impression that I've done something wrong, though it's not entirely clear to me exactly what it is. How much can one man mess up in a single week? "What..." I say, lightly patting my pocket to make sure I have my wallet.

"I was just going to order from room service."

"Yeah, but like I said, I know a great place." She lets out a small grunt that lets me know she's not pleased with the idea. "What's wrong?"

"Just how many women have you brought here?" Shit! She doesn't even try to disguise the hurt in her voice.

I sit down on the chair next to the bed and reach for her hand. "I haven't-" I catch the lie before it meets the air. "Sara..." I evade. "Sweetie..."

She won't be put off. "How many, Gil?"

I swallow hard and look her in the eye. "Just Alana. Once. Only once."

She looks around the room. "Here?"

I shake my head and edge closer to her on the bed, her hand still firmly in mine. "Absolutely not! Not the boat trip, not the hotel, just the island." She tosses her hair and the glossy curls land on her shoulders. "Okay?"

"No. It's not _okay_," she mimics the last word. "I thought this was special. Just for me."

God, I've really screwed this up. I never even considered the error in taking Sara to the same place I took Alana. I just needed something fast and doable. I could have easily flown her to the Bahamas or Jamaica.

"I wasn't thinking," I admit. "I just wanted to do something nice and-I just wanted to get away. I didn't have much time." I run a hand over my beard and take a deep breath. "I messed up. We can leave. We can leave right now-"

She takes my hand and waves me off. "Just go get my food. I need some... time alone."

"Of course." I give her a quick kiss on the lips and leave her to her own thoughts.

**Observation Gil**

The smells of Marty's Burger Emporium barely made a dent into the carnivorous subconscious of Gil Grissom. His mind was still back at the Elysian Fields Hotel. The trip to Catalina with Alana had been two years ago. It had been a delicately special time for them. A time when the thought he might actually be able to conquer all of his demons; be able to finally make the honest commitment that real life had been calling for.

Had he been subconsciously trying to recreate that time with Sara? It honestly had not entered his conscious thought when he'd picked the spot. Hopefully, the special things he planned, that were strictly for Sara, would be enough to repair the damage.

If he'd seen the wavy headed, black eyed brunette pass by the window, he'd have thought it was his imagination. Alana studied him for several seconds. Believing in providence and fate, she smiled to herself as she turned and slipped away before Grissom could see her.

_A/N The book that Sara is reading is an actual book. I don't know if it's any good..._


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N Thanks to Losingintranslation and Michelle for all the hard work. Thanks for you continued support and the many sweet notes during my recent difficult time. **

Gil returned to the room laden with two regular burgers, two large fries, two cokes and a veggie burger-just in case.

Sara mumbled something as she took the pile of food he offered.

"I went ahead and got you a beef and a veggie burger," he told her a little too cheerily.

Sara wrinkled her nose as she examined the food. "Never had a veggie burger."

"You might like it," was all he could offer.

They ate in awkward silence. Sara polished off both of the burgers, half her fries and a third of the soft drink, as Gil absently picked through his own meal. When she was done, she casually chucked the wadded up up wrappers into the garbage can beside the bed. Wordlessly, she retreated from the room, but more importantly away from Gil, to take a shower.

Forty five minutes of running water later, wearing only her panties, she stalked out of the bathroom into the dark suite. Gil, already in bed, his broad back to her, didn't even pretend to be asleep. She sighed with relief and slipped under the thousand thread count sheets. She'd never slept on sheets like that before. The tightly woven cotton was cool, soft, rich. Wondering if she ever would sleep on anything that satisfying again, she tried to enjoy them, but was unable to, given her present state of mind.

Alana always seemed to be lurking at the perimeter of their lives. The woman touched every shadow making it so that Sara could be almost happy, but never totally happy. There was something left unsettled between Gil and this woman. She didn't know if it was love, or lust, or just the last threads of the relationship hanging on.

"Gil," she said, her breath touching his naked back

"Yes," he replied without turning over.

Sara felt her face flush as she revealed, "Alana called while you were gone."

"I thought she might," he admitted, not entirely sure where the conversation was going.

"What's going on Gil?" she asked weakly.

He turned over to face her and rested his hand lightly on her waist. "Nothing. I haven't even talked to her."

"Why not?"

He inched a bit closer to her, tightening his grip. "I-don't have anything to say, I suppose

"Why not?" Sara was truly interested in the answer.

He seemed confused, and gave a half shrug.

Sara stared into the darkness and measured her next words very carefully. "Wasn't she your friend? Don't you want to say hi? See how she's doing? I mean, hasn't she been out of the country for nearly a year?"

"I-"

Surprising even herself, she squeezed his hand. "Look. I've never had a relationship like you and Alana hand. There was Manny, but that was just two people that needed one another for protection and comfort. But you and Alana, you had a connection. You were really friends. You have a history and you probably thought you had a future, too. It just seems-" Sara struggled for the right word. "-strange."

"I thought I was doing the right thing-being respectful of you- by not talking to her."

Sara turned away from him, but let his hand remain on her. "You didn't even tell me she was trying to contact you."

He swallowed slowly and tried to move closer to her. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing if you don't even know what you did?"

"I'm trying."

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she refused to let them flow. She pushed the watery edge out of her voice. "You didn't tell me the truth. You created a secret, and made me want to help you keep it. You made it seem like it was-bad that she called." A tear slipped from one eye. She didn't wipe it away.

"Tell me what to do," he whispered against her hair.

"You still love her," she declared.

His protest was instant and fierce. "No!" came his emphatic whisper. "I love you."

A million thoughts whirled through Sara's head in that instant. If she had been standing, the declaration would have knocked her off her feet. Instead, it only served to make her incredibly sad. "Then why haven't you ever said it before."

"I don't know," was all he could muster.

**Sara**

We slept then; fitful and weary of the conversation. At some point, as the sun rose, Gil got up and slid open the balcony doors. "You should hear the ocean," he announced as he walked back to the bed.

If you had to ask me now, I would have to say I initiated the lovemaking. Not aggressively, but I discarded my panties somewhere in the middle of the night and when he came back to bed I had settled on my back. I'd thrown off the covers, to feel the crisp air on my body, and my legs were half open.

He reached for me tentatively, but there was nothing tentative about the way I clung to him as he pressed into me. I pushed away all other things; all my troubles, my doubts, my fears. I just wanted Gil there, on top of me, moaning and stroking my insides. Telling it me everything was going to be okay.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but all that would come were grunts and spasms and "Gil."

**Gil**

She says she has to leave. That if I do love her, I won't stop her. That she's going to stay with Kelly for awhile or maybe Marg. She doesn't know. She promised that she'll stop tending bar. That she'll call me if she needs money. That she'll call when she "gets her head on straight."

She says all of this as she closes her suitcase and casts me caustic looks, punctuated with what I feel are "you poor thing" furrowed brows.

I tend to agree with her.

She says she's not angry. That she's lost herself in me. I don't even know what that means. Isn't that what it's supposed to be about? Losing yourself in the other person? I'm trying so hard to get this right, but maybe I just don't have the radar for it.

I promised not to pressure her, to talk to Alana, and to figure out what I want.

I try and tell her I love her, for the third time. She shakes away my pleas as she downs two Advil and mutters a complaint about "damn cramps."

I asked to take her to the pier. She refuses. We should start our break right now. I should enjoy my time on the island. That's what she says. I give her a kiss that leaves us both breathless and I see her brown eyes falter for just a second.

"You gotta let me do this, Doc. You've got to let me go, to let me go just this once, babe."

I do.

**Sara**

I hear someone call my name as I make my way to the dock. It startles me most because it's not Gil's voice.

Out of nowhere, Billy from the boat is walking beside me, his tight jeans giving out a little too much information, his shirt half buttoned, and his bright eyes pushing away the last remnants of sleep.

"Hiya," he says amiably.

"Hi... Billy." I'm not in the mood for this, but he's just so damn nice.

"I was telling Gina we should call you guys for dinner." He notices the suitcase that's rolling along beside me for the first time. "You two leaving already?"

I avoid the question. "Gina's your girlfriend?"

His eyes bounce between me and the suitcase and we move down the lane. "Yeah, she's getting whipped with seaweeds or something at the spa. She says we need couple friends."

We walk in silence for several long surprisingly unakward moments. I feel Bill studying me. "Let me take that." he says stopping and reaching for my suitcase.

I start to protest, but Billy is that kind of guy you don't argue with. He pushes in the handle of the case and lifts it from the sidewalk. The pier comes into view. But there's at least another 10 minutes before we get there.

Effortlessly, he carries the case above the sidewalk, which has begun to twist and slope gently downhill.

As we begin to walk again he looks away from me. "You're leaving your fella, aren't you?"

I shrug and pick up the pace. Billy never misses a step. "Not exactly."

"Then what, exactly?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you're nosey Billy?"

"Yeah. Now...you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Billy..."

He sounds more serious than I ever thought him capable of. "Sara-you can't leave him. It'll kill him."

I snort. "Yeah. The loss of me is like the absence of oxygen."

"So you ARE leaving him," he concludes.

We walk past an ancient looking couple sitting on a bench. They give us bright, dentured smiles.

Billy nods and smiles at them. "If she dies first, he won't last a week," he murmurs continuing to smile at the couple

"So, Gil is somewhere fading away as we speak?" I snort.

"I thought you didn't leave him?"

I stop in my tracks then and he stumbles, but doesn't drop the case. Facing him, I resist the urge to poke him in his chest. "Look. I'm not leaving him. We just need some..."

"Space?" Billy offers with the shake of a head.

It seems to suit so I agree. There's an empty bench a few feet ahead of us. Billy dusts off a few leaves and motions for me to join him. "Can we sit for a second? You walk like you're running from something."

I cast a glance down the hill at the dock.

"Boats come and go every 15 minutes and all of them have room for a pretty girl." We walk towards the bench, the suitcase between us on the ground.

"Look, Sara, I don't know what's going on, but I know people and that man loves you something awful. He's a man, so you might not be up on all the man clues. But trust me, he's down for the count and all you have to do is ring the bell and call the fight." He rubs his hand over his scruff. "It's never good when the woman leaves. Women leave when they are absolutely done. When there's no hope. That's what he's feeling right now, Sara. He's feeling hopeless."

I watch Billy to seek out his sincerity. It's all there. "You just met us-" I sigh. "I don't want him to feel that way. I don't. I just…he's got some stuff he needs to deal with and I'm just trying to protect myself."

"Ah." He rakes his hand in his thick curly hair, creating rows. "You think he's seeing someone else. Get them before they get you. Look- I know a thing or two about men who can't keep it in their pants and most of the time it's just stupid and selfish, and occasionally it's mean, but it's hardly ever about you." I try and interrupt again. "That being said, I completely understand the need for self protection and maybe." He looks around. "Maybe he _was_ that guy, but he's not that guy anymore. I saw his eyes, Sara. He's not that guy. If he's gotten himself into something-a mess- you gotta give him a chance to get himself out of it."

I cock my head and stare at Billy's pleasant kind face. "You know an awful lot about this, Billy. You in a mess?"

His nails are suddenly very interesting to Billy. "I used to thrive on-a different kind of life. Now? Now, I'm working on cleaning a few things up."

I stand and resist the urge to smooth Billy's hair. "Come on. Gina's going to be in a mood when they are done beating her with foliage. You can buy me a fruit punch before I leave."

TBC


	17. Chapter 16

_**I am very sorry for the delay. I wish I could tell you that there won't be another but I dealing with some health issues and can't promise the regularity I was previously so proud of. I will try and post at least twice a month. Since we are winding to a stop it shouldn't be so bad...said the spider to the flies.**_

_**Thank to Michelle and Jennifer for weeding through my fever addled brain. I know it's not cute in there.**_

_**Thank you guys for continuing to even care about this story.**_

Observation Gil

Gil ate his lunch and dinner in the hotel room. He had gotten some menial work done on his laptop. He also managed to not roll up into a ball and die. He counted that as his greatest victory.

The phone jostled him out of the self pity that had threatened to consume him. Assuming it would be Sara telling him where she would be staying for the next few days, or possibly weeks, he answered the phone quickly, "You made it." The silence he was met with was a millisecond too long, and he began to worry. "Hello?"

"Gil?" The voice was crisp and surprisingly sweet. It was almost as if Sara had cast an incantation that had somehow brought Alana forth.

"Alana," he breathed as he looked out over the ocean and gripped the edge of the bed with his free hand.

Trying to keep the bitterness from her voice, she said, "I assume I'm not who you were expecting."

He moved the phone from one ear to another. "No, you weren't." He tried not to sound cruel. He had already hurt enough people for the day.

"Sorry," Alana replied, her delicate hands starting to sweat a bit. She had hoped he would be alone, but had never really expected it to happen. After all, who went to a romantic island on their own? Certainly not Gil Grissom, the man who preferred rustic mountain top cabins when he wanted to recharge-alone.

She had often wondered about the husky voiced woman who had answered his phone before. The woman had been wary of her, and understandably so. The new girlfriend always knew about the old one. The confidence she had heard in that woman's voice had troubled Alana.

Alana had never completely believed that she and Gil could ever make it. There had always been something dark on their horizon. She'd been on guard for cracks in their relationship, for his roving eyes and his wanderlust.

Nothing in his life had ever seemed to be enough. He never learned enough. Never worked enough. She was never enough; though nearly so.

She had known that it was rude to call and to interrupt his obvious romantic encounter. But when she had seen him at one of their old haunts, she had simply not been able to help herself. There just seemed to be something serendipitous about the near encounter.

She wasn't even sure why she'd come to the island. Maybe it was to remember their time together. Maybe it was to put it all behind her? She couldn't really be sure now. Seeing him after nearly a year abroad, it was all muddled in her brain now.

"How was London?" His voice interrupted her thoughts.

Grateful for the normality of the question, she launched into a dialog about how invigorating the work had been for her. She went on to tell him how much she'd enjoyed her time away, but was glad to have returned. She finished by saying that she'd been able to visit some the great masterpieces during her time off.

"Good for you. I heard good things about the restoration to Nevel."

She smiled. He had been keeping tabs on her. Perhaps? One could only hope. "They seemed pleased." she said lightly. "How have you been, Gil?"

"Very good." It was an honest answer, but it stung her a bit. "You?"

"Fine." she said mildly. Immediately, she regretted her answer. She should have said something more positive to counter his answer. "I've called you a few times."

"So I understand." His voice was gentle. He had hurt enough people already, and Sara had made him promise to _talk to Alana_. She had been very clear about that.

It was Alana's turn to cut through the moment of silence that time. "I-are you here alone?"

"Actually," he swallowed. "Sa-She went back this morning." He dared not speak Sara's name to Alana. There was something too intimate about it; something that felt a little too much like betrayal.

"I'm here alone," was her response to the unanswered question.

"Oh." Had she imagined that his voice had perked up, or was she lying to herself again where Gil Grissom was concerned?

For his part, Gil saw this as an opportunity. It was an opportunity to see Alana, to put the past behind him, and to gain Sara's trust again. There was also a tiny corner of his brain that wondered why Alana had come there alone, but he resisted the urge to dwell on it. Whatever her reasons were, he would know soon enough.

He clicked on the TV and placed it on mute as he turned to CNN to check the time: eight o'clock. "Why don't we meet for a drink? At O'Mally's in an hour," he asked.

Almost giddy with anticipation, she nearly giggled. "Great. I'll see you there." Before he could respond, she had hung up the phone and dashed to the bathroom to check her appearance.

Sara

Okay, so I had a little breakdown. Alright. I had a big breakdown. But I'm doing much better now. Kelly really is going to be a good mother one day. She listened to me babble on and on, and cry and cry, and she didn't once tell me I was stupid. She just listened to all of it, and gave only her gentle brand of advice.

After I calmed down, I called Gil, but he didn't answer the phone. I'm trying not to make too much of it, but it's...difficult. All kinds of nonsense keeps running through my head. I mean, he said he loved me, and I do believe him. Gil has a lot of faults, but he doesn't lie. He never lies. And when I looked into his eyes just before I left, I could see the hurt there.

I really don't want to hurt him, but we've got to sort through all of this crap. And no matter what he says, Alana is an issue. An issue he's not prepared to deal with. I know a little something about what it's like to bury that stuff until you think it doesn't matter anymore. But it always matters. Just how much is what makes the difference.

For what it's worth…I don't think he's really in love with Alana anymore. But she's still got some kind of a hold on him. Maybe talking to her will finally shake it off.

On top of all the crap with Gil, my period is starting and the cramps are a mother. I thought the pill was supposed to help with this stuff, but I'm still having to deal with it month after month. It's not so bad when Gil is around. He puts a hot water bottle on my belly and starts waxing poetic about biology, and the life giving nature of the womb, and how wondrous it all is. For such a smooth player, he can be so cheesy sometimes.

We haven't talked about kids-exactly, but he's made it pretty clear that he wants some one day. I'm not sure what kind of mother I'd be. But if Gil thinks I'll be a good one, and he'll be around to keep me from doing stupid things, then I'm willing to give it a shot. At least I know what not to do.

Me, with kids, well that's just one of the craziest things I've ever considered. But it all seems strangely possible now. All of this makes me think about my brother. I've been hoping to hear from him. I wonder if he has kids, or if he's married. He's still pretty young, really.

Another roll of pain hits me, making me double over again. So much for the Advil. I roll over and try to get some sleep. I guess it could be worse. I could be pregnant. Wouldn't that be a mess?


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N Thanks to Jennifer, Michelle and Joan. Sorry it's taken so long. Real life and all of that. I am having some formatting issues. Let me know if anything is hinky(is that a word?)**

Observation

Why did she always have to be so late? That was the bitter refrain that rang over and over again in his head as he waited on Alana. He tried to imagine what she was doing; going through that humongous clear cosmetic bag of hers as she rummaged around for the perfect lipstick, to go with the perfect nail polish, and the perfect blush.

Alana was naturally a beautiful woman, but that never stopped her from working so damned hard at it. He didn't remember it being so irritating before. When she did finally show up (20 minutes late), he found his anger seeping away quickly as she tipped across the dark room. Her dark denim jeans clung to her soft curves, with a loose, white linen shirt barely covering her midriff.

She did look amazing, with a dark cascade of hair nearly covering one eye. Her full mouth was dark and red, and surprisingly inviting. He stood as she neared the table.

His irritation started to seep away as he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She returned the gesture, lingering a bit too long. They regarded one another for several seconds before finally taking their seats awkwardly.

He took several deep breaths trying to quiet the familiar feelings she'd stirred in him. Really, Alana was no different then she'd always been. A little too vain. Slightly self absorbed. But at the heart, a good woman. Just not the woman for him.

It troubled him that he saw other things in her eyes. There was too much hope and circles of anticipation dancing in her earth colored eyes.

Alana nervously drummed blood red nails on the battered oak table. "You look...good."

He gave a soft smile, wondering what the pause was about, but decided to ignore it. "You do, too."

"Thank you," she said, a little too coyly for his taste. She knew she looked good. She'd spent at least a solid hour making sure of that fact.

"I'm glad you agreed to meet me," she said softly as the ancient jukebox began to crank out Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire.

Raising her voice over the music she said, "How long are you here for?"

Without giving it much thought he replied, "Just until the morning." He hadn't known it before she arrived, but he was leaving, as soon as possible. To bring Sara home.

"Oh." Her brows rose for only a second, and a look of disappointment settled in her nearly black eyes.

Just then, a thin, dark haired waiter appeared at their table. Grissom barely gave him a second glance. He had no intention of eating.

The young man stood a little straighter as his eyes raked over Alana. He gave her the full effect of even white teeth. "I know he's the medium-well, double thick, bacon burger, and so you must be jalapeño veggie burger."

Alana's eyes clouded with confusion at first, and then she let out soundless breath. "Ah," she said turning towards Grissom. "You two _have_ been hitting all the spots..."

Not realizing his mistake, the young man tossed his longish hair and scribbled on his pad. "What can I get you two to drink with those?" As the waiter finally looked up, he sensed the discomfort between them and wordlessly moved away.

One beat. Two beats. Finally, he gave her a gentle smile. "Alana, I don't know what to say…to you." he shrugged.

She ran a hand over her thick black hair, eventually tucking a section behind one diamond studded ear. Alana had never been afraid of adornment.

"Say whatever you came to say, Gil."

He inched his fingers to meet hers, lifting his head to look into her dark eyes. "You are a wonderful person. I'm very sorry for avoiding you. I was just trying to make my relationship work and I thought avoiding you was the appropriate way to do it. It wasn't."

Alana leaned away and settled her back into the chair, pulling her fingers into her lap as she did so.

Gil continued. "I made a lot of mistakes when we were together. I can't undo those. I can only tell you how profoundly sorry I am that-I wasn't the man you needed me to be. I needed to grow up. There were things that I thought I couldn't do- maybe I didn't want to do them. For everything I did or didn't do, I am very sorry."

"Gil..." Alana sighed and shifted her weight from one hip to another. Sighing she shook her head quickly. "You don't have to-"

"I do," he insisted. "I need you know that there's better than me out there for you. There's someone that makes-your heart sing. I don't do that for you Alana. I never have. Yes, we were in love, but I'm not _your_ love and you aren't mine." He touched an index finger to the left side of his chest. "I want for you to feel the way Sara makes me feel. Even when it's bad, everything is so much better with her than without."

Alana sat, quiet and still. Silent tears ran down her cheeks and pooled at her chin. The young man returned and gave Alana two clean napkins which she almost immediately blackened with mascara and shadow smudges. He gave Gil a quick glare. Again he retreated wordlessly.

They sat like that for several minutes, or perhaps it was hours, Alana couldn't be sure. Later she'd remember how kind he was. How true and sincere his words were. How he'd only wanted the best for her. And later, after she'd found the person that made her heart sing, she'd thank God for Gil Grissom every single day.

Observation

By the time Kelly found her Sara had lost a significant amount of blood. Her skin was pale, smudgy circles under her eyes. She didn't need medical tests or hospitals to tell her what happen. A woman just knew when part of her was dying, being ripped from her. Then why hadn't she known that it living?

"Call Gil." was all she said as she closed her eyes and fell back to the edge of consciousness.

Observation

He was the first to step from the boat. He'd been antsy the entire way over, hardly speaking with the other passengers who tried to exchange pleasantries. Without Sara by his side, the relaxing boat trip had turned into an extremely tedious journey. He'd sucked down two scotch and sodas. He considered another, but thought better of it.

He didn't know if Sara had taken the car and certainly didn't want to be pulled over for drunk driving. Wouldn't Nancy Grace love that, "Famed forensics investigator arrested for driving drunk."

He was chuckling to himself as he thought of sharing that odd thought with Sara.

The phone in his jacket pocket vibrated and let out a solitary high-pitched beep. He glanced at the readout, and smiled into the receiver. "You'll never guess where I am?"

Kelly's breathless, panicked voice cut straight through the airwaves. "Gil. It's Kelly. Sara's sick. Really sick. She had to be rushed to St. Mark's."

The slow jog he'd started upon hearing Kelly's voice turned into an all out sprint. He hung up the phone without even replying.

"I'm on my way, Gorgeous. I'm on my way."


	19. Chapter 18

Thanks to Ming, Michelle and Jeniffer.

Gil

They gave her something to sleep. The nurse says she won't wake until the morning. I'm still not sure what happened exactly, but from what I can gather, she had a miscarriage. I didn't even know she was pregnant, and I seriously doubt that she did either. We've always been so careful.

I intimated that I was her husband, in order to get the information I did receive. I think the doctor bought it. The lead ER nurse, a compact Filipina woman with a tight line of a mouth, didn't believe me. But she didn't argue, either

By the time Kelly found Sara she'd lost a lot of blood and was going in and out of consciousness. The doctors say she's going to be fine.

I've been trying not the think of the baby-our baby. Sara was pregnant, even if only for a brief time, with our child. We certainly weren't ready to have children. Sara has years of school yet to complete and I...

Well, what about me? What if Sara had come to me and told me we were having a baby? While I don't necessarily feel my biological clock ticking, surprisingly, I'm not horrified by the prospect. I have never really seriously considered children. Sure, there was some vague idea that I'd be a father, some day, and lately it has become very clear that it would be with Sara.

Still, that all seemed very far off. After we'd gotten married… _If_ Sara wants to get married? I think she does. I mean, it seems like something Sara would want to do--one day.

I wonder what it felt like. For those few brief moments to know that she was carrying our baby. I lean very close to her. She looks so small and week. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry about...everything," I say.

Her hand tightens around mine for an instant and her delicate brow furrows a little in her sleep. "We'll get through this... I promise."

Sara

When I woke, Gil had fallen asleep on the couch in my room. He'd pulled it up close to the bed; one hand was resting on mine. "Gil," I said. Gil sleeps like a hibernating bear. Once he's out, he's out; snoring and everything. The only thing that can usually rouse him is a call from work.

When I said his name, I was surprised at how small my voice was. It was just a whisper really. I was all set to say his name again, but Gil sat up ramrod straight. His feet hit the little space he'd left between the couch and the bed.

"I'm up," he declared. His hair was all over his head and there was a little bit of sleep in the corners of his eyes. I must have been loopy from the drugs, because I swear I giggled. He just looked so funny. His eyes went all soft when he saw I was awake and I think it was at that moment that I realized why I loved him.

"How do you feel?" he asked running his hand over his beard and blinking quickly.

I thought about that for a bit. I mean I'd just woke up. I said the first thing that came to mind. "Stunned."

He nodded and kissed my forehead. "Of course you are," he murmured as he moved his lips to one of my hands.

I don't know what made me ask him this. I mean, I'm the one in the hospital right? But it seemed to make sense. "What about you?"

He sat back down, still holding my hand and considered that for bit. "I guess I'm the same, honey."

Gil

"The fetus was not viable," The doctor says looking between the two of us. He's pulled a chair by Sara's bed. He looks to be about my age, but his hair is inky black-no gray there. Under his white coat are a pink polo shirt and some khakis. A small silver hoop rests in his left ear, and is slightly covered by shoulder length dreadlocks he's pulled back into a loose ponytail.

His dark, brown eyes are intelligent and cautious.

"Women get pregnant while they're on birth control all the time. Sometimes women are able to carry the fetus to term. However, in my experience, that rarely ever happens. Did you know you were pregnant?" He asks Sara softly, a lilting voice that was incongruous with his wide shoulders and catcher's mitt hands.

Sara gives a little head shake. "No. I thought the cramps were just my period."

The doctor gives a thoughtful nod and offers Sara a small smile. "Some studies suggest that up to 40 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage."

Sara gives me a shy look that makes me wonder what she's thinking. She stares at our entwined hands for a while without speaking.

"Honey," I say. "If you want me to leave so you can talk to the doctor-"

The offer relaxes the other man. Sara holds my hand tighter and shakes her head. "No. You stay."

"You have questions?" the doctor asks. I am finally able to focus in on the neat black stitching of his doctor's coat. Dr. Raymond Johnson.

Another look at me and she takes a big breath. "How will this affect my ability to have children?"

"Ah," comes the soft voice again. "Of course."

"Yes." Her shoulders relax a bit when she qualifies the answer with, "Some day."

"There's nothing in this episode that suggests any effect on your ability to conceive or carry to term. As I said, this is far more common than many women realize. Most women go on to have healthy, successful pregnancies. And you are still very young."

He shifts, crosses and uncrosses his legs, and gives me the full advantage of his dark brown eyes. "Many partners feel quite helpless when something like this happens. They tend to focus on the woman and her health, without paying close enough attention to their own emotional health. Even when pregnancies aren't planned, it can still be very difficult to deal with the loss."

I don't know what to say about that. He's right of course. Sara is really my only concern. She's the one who lost this child. The one who has been impacted both emotionally and physically. I'm just the guy who got her pregnant, really.

"I know that you've not had time to absorb everything, but do you have someone that you could talk to? It said you were Catholic on the admitting form. Are you comfortable talking to your priest? If not I have several therapists or clergy I could suggest."

Sara and I talk at the same time.

"What about all the blood loss?" I say.

"We have a good priest," she says.

Sara

I love Gil Grissom. Probably going to love him until the day I die. But ever since we got home from the hospital, he's been grating on my nerves. I know exactly what he's doing. He thinks that if he fusses over me, he won't have to deal with his own feelings--his own stuff about me losing the baby.

The doctor tried to talk to him about it, but Gil just volleyed back with more questions about how to take care of me. The doctor was very concerned about how much blood I lost and made me promise to take a week off. Apparently Gil had pulled him aside and told him I was a workaholic. Takes one to know, one right?

Gil promised he'd keep an eye on me, so they only kept me that one night. He's staying true to his word, I tell you. If he has to leave for more than a few hours, he sends Marg or Kelly over here to spy; which they are only too happy to do.

He's got the entire bedroom set up so that all I have to do is get up to go to the bathroom. He's set up a microwave and a fridge beside the bed, along with a book case. I literally have no excuse to move from this spot. Luckily, he got called away, Marg is at work and Kelly had study group. So, in theory, I could break into my own personal Tom Cruise inspired dance. But, honestly, I am just too tired. I am worn out and I do need the rest.

I also need to process this whole "losing my baby thing." That's what it was to me, even though I didn't know about it. It wasn't a fetus. It was my baby: our baby. I think Gil feels the same way. But he's spent so much time fluffing my pillow and feeling my forehead and taking my pulse that he hasn't had a chance to deal with it.

I'm going to let him have about 24 more hours of this, but after that he's going to have to look me in the eye and talk about our baby and how he feels -- about everything. We've got to deal with this Alana thing. I'm not sure if now is the time to bring that up. We've got one problem after another.

We will get through it.

The phone rings and I pick it up. A familiar, gravely voice comes through the other side. "Sara. It's Jim. I've got a key and I just wanted to let you know I'm coming in."

A jangle of keys and ten footsteps later there's a soft knock on the door frame. "Are you decent?" Jim says from somewhere in the hall.

"Not recently. But I am dressed."

He walks into the room dressed in a well cut suit. He's a small guy and his suit just looks awfully cute to me. I can't help but smile. He's holding a huge pizza box and it's at that moment that I realize just how hungry I am. The smell of cheese, fennel seed, and red sauce instantly fills the room.

He gives me a quick once over; his cop's eyes recording my condition for the report back to Big Brother. "I see we are wearing yet another fetching set of pajamas..." He smiles gently as he sets the box on the top of the microwave and takes in my greens silk PJs that Gil brought to the hospital.

I give a playful groan. "If I'd know you were coming, I'd have added my fuzzy slippers."

"If you'd known I was coming, you'd have told me not to." He shoots back. "Not that I would've listened."

"Probably," I concede. Jim leaves for several minutes returning with two plates and napkins.

"I got half cheese and half pepperoni. I assume you have beverages in the kitchenette." He nods to the microwave and refrigerator.

"But of course."

He pulls a soda from the fridge and piles three slices on my plate. We eat quietly for a time as Jim flips through the TV channels. Eventually, we agree on a History Channel documentary about General Sherman.

I cut my eyes towards Jim a few times wondering if I should talk to him about Gil. After I've worked my way through my second slice, I decide to give it a shot.

"Um, Jim?"

"Yeah, Doll?

"Did Gil tell you what happened?"

He gives me his full attention then. His face isn't a cop face but a Dad face, and not for the first time I wonder what the hell is wrong with Ellie Brass.

"Yeah, he did. I won't ask if you are okay, because that's a stupid question."

"Yeah," I agree. "Gil's not...talking about it."

Brass shrugs and puts his plate down on the bedside table. "You know how he is. If he can't fix it, he's going to control it. You know how us guys are." It's almost like he can sense my nervousness when he adds, "He's very upset. You know that, right?"

I think about that for a second. "Yeah, I guess I do. I just wish he'd say something."

"He just wants to make sure you're okay. Give him a little time." He puts down the plate and bites his bottom lip. "When something like this happens to your wife or girlfriend, you kinda don't think you have a right to grieve or feel bad for yourself. But he'll get around to it. Just give him some time and keep him honest. You know what to do, kid. He's your guy, and you both know how to take care of each other."

I don't know what makes me say the next thing that comes to mind, because it really might be offensive to Jim. "All this attention is overwhelming; everyone in and out of here. I'm just not used to having so many people around."

Brass shifts in the leather chair that no one else ever sits in. "I know." He pats my knee. "There was a time it would have driven me nuts, too. But you do realize that it's better to have too many people than not enough, right?"

I bite into the warm slice of my pizza and nod.

Brass does the same and I barely hear his next words. "That's what being a family is all about, Doll."

TBC


End file.
